


Tell Me Why You Act So Tongue-Tied

by Jamie_Angel



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fans & Fandom, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angry Jude Duarte, Band Fic, Cardan thinks Jude's hot, Choking, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fans, Hate Kissing, Hate to Love, Jude swears because I think she's hot when she does it, Mild Smut, Slow Burn, Smut, Swearing, Tattoos, Teasing, and when i tag that oh boy do i mean it, bassist cardan, because neither of them are straight, bi Jude Duarte, but like, cant remember what chapter the smut is in but there is a warning, cardan greenbriar cant flirt, cardan has tattoos because sexy faerie boy, cardan love-hates jude, getting horny on stage, hate flirting, i cant see my girlfriend and play with her and my friends dont be mean, in an enemies way, jude can throw a mean punch, listen neither of them are functional humans, pan cardan greenbriar, tattooed Jude, the bomb is the a drummer, the roach is the guitarist, they're gonna despise each other for most of this fic, they're making out because they're angry i swear, trust me im the CEO of being lgbt, twenty something i reckon, vocalist/lead guitarist jude, yes i am living vicariously through this lot playing dnd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 49,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27820396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamie_Angel/pseuds/Jamie_Angel
Summary: Jude Duarte absolutely despises the replacement bassist. Garrett went and broke his neck, so now they have him.Cardan Greenbriar.This is going to go up in flames(AKA: The band AU where Jude is the very angry lead singer, and Cardan is the bassist that does his best to annoy the living shit out of her.)
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 64
Kudos: 246





	1. Chicago, IL (Jude)

**Author's Note:**

> Title (and the song for this chapter) is from Up In Flames by Mothica. Will I ever stop talking about her? Probs not

“He was supposed to be a temp!” I all but shout down the phone line.  
  
Taryn sighs at me. “Jude, Garrett isn’t able to play for another six months. Unless you want to cancel the entire tour, you’ll have to endure. Besides, people already like him.”  
  
“I know-”  
  
“Jude.”  
  
“As soon as Garrett’s neck has healed, I’m flying back and re-snapping it.”  
  
“And then you’d be stuck with Cardan for another six months on tour. Stop crying about it.”  
  
“Taryn-” I’m cut off by a beeping indicating she hung up on me. “Rude.”  
  
I toss my phone onto a nearby chair and rub my palms to my temples. A normal temp would be fine – I’d pretty much ignore them until Garrett could play again. _This_ temp, however, won’t let me ignore him. He’s always there. I’ve told him three times in this city alone that _no, he can’t bring girls into the hotel, we have a show in an hour,_ and _no you can’t skip practice, you aren’t that good_. He’s infuriating. What’s even more infuriating is the fact that everyone else just gets along with him and acts like he’s not the single most annoying person to ever grace this bus.  
  
Someone knocks on my door. I look up, if only to glare at whoever it is.  
  
“Sup, Boss?” Liliver asks, opening the door when I don’t tell her to come in.  
  
“I’m not your boss.” I say, because technically Taryn’s our PR manager, and Fand’s our agent, and her wife Sophie our _real_ manager. She acts like anything but – always fun, always telling us to take a day off when her daughter sick, always _Sophie._  
  
“Sure,” Liliver says, perching on the end of my bed, “The fans just call you the Queen of Shadows for nothing.”  
  
“That is nothing.” I argue.  
  
She hums, “Yeah, sure, nothing.”  
  
We don’t reveal our true names on stage, so the fans just gave us nicknames. Liliver’s the Bomb, because she’s explosive on the drums; Van’s the Roach because of the complicated melodies he can play easily; Garrett’s the Ghost because his bass lines are always _just there,_ never too loud or overpowering, perfect. Finally, I’m the Queen of Shadows. I don’t even where that one came.  
  
I scowl at her. “Is there a reason you’re in here?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Poll came back.” She says. I know what she’s talking about. The day before every show, we post a poll on our twitter, where the fans get to vote on a song not usually on our set list, whether it be a cover or just not on the album that we’re currently touring. It was Van’s idea, to make each show unique. The results usually come back an hour or two before the show.  
  
“What is it?” I ask, picking up my guitar and strumming an experimental chord. It doesn’t sound very impressive, but I can tell it’s untuned. I sit next to Liliver on the bed and lower my ear to the strings.  
  
“ **Up In Flames**.” She says.  
  
I’m mildly surprised by this. “Really? I thought that they’d for sure pick Blackout again.”  
  
She flicks me in the forehead, “We just added it to the set list after we got told to play it three shows in a row.”  
  
I think back, “Oh yeah.”  
  
She sits with me until I’m done tuning. When I’m finished, I happily strum through the first three chords of **Up In Flames**.  
  
“There a reason you’re still here?” I wince. “That didn’t come out right.”  
  
She pats my arm. “It’s fine. And, there is actually. What’s going on with you and the temp?”  
  
“Nothing.” I say, brushing my fingers over the frets non-committally.  
  
She arches an eyebrow. “Really?”  
  
“He’s annoying. Nothings ‘going on’ with us.”  
  
She clearly doesn’t believe me. “Alright. Tell yourself that. What’re you wearing tonight?”  
  
I shrug. “Something.”  
  
“That’s specific.” She rolls her eyes, “You should get dressed soon. I’ll leave you know.”  
  
“By, Lili.”  
  
___  
  
I can already hear people talking, an overwhelming, incomprehensible babble. The stage is completely dark; the only visual on the big screen behind the stage is a big countdown and the symbol of the Court of Shadows, a bloody dagger and a crown.  
  
_10 seconds left._  
  
The first light flares on and screams erupt from the crowd. Liliver flips her drumsticks up in the air and catches them.  
  
_8 seconds left.  
  
_The second light comes to life, illuminating Cardan. He mock salutes with two fingers and plays a quick, two bar bass line. More people scream.  
  
_6 seconds._  
  
The third light spills onto the stage. Van grins and waves. He slides a power chord from first position down to fifth. The screams get louder.  
  
_4 seconds._  
  
The light above me switches on, blinding me temporarily. I don’t smile. That’d ruin my image at the start of the show. I rap my knuckles on my guitar.  
  
_2 seconds._  
  
We let them scream themselves hoarse for a few seconds.  
  
_0 seconds._  
  
I step toward my microphone. “Hello, Chicago!”  
  
My screams erupt. Jesus, they’re really going for it.  
  
I hold up a hand for silence, which, miraculously, works. They quieten down on the most part. “I’m the Queen of Shadows and this is my court.”  
  
Someone shouts, the words lost to the general yelling.  
  
“Before the show we asked you what song you’d like to hear. So, without further ado, here’s **Up In Flames**.”  
  
Van started on the melody line as more yells, louder than ever erupted. Liliver came in on the drum beat. I play my first chord as I start singing.  
  
_Talk is cheap, but I’m taking the blame  
  
Honestly, there’s nothing to say  
  
My misery loves company_  
  
I don’t know when Cardan came in with the bass. It should’ve been the same time as Liliver with the drums.  
  
_Now you know, I’m letting you down  
  
I’ll never be your solid ground  
  
_I can feel him staring at me.  
  
_Enemies?  
  
_I glare at him, buts he’s facing the audience.  
  
_Did we used to be?  
  
_He looks at me and our eyes lock for a moment in a silent contest. It takes everything I have to lose the competition and turn back toward the audience. We transition seamlessly from the verse to the pre-chorus.  
  
_I’m sorry, oh oh,  
  
I didn’t mean to break you down,  
  
giving you the run around,_  
  
Me and Liliver both pause our instruments so only the bass line and Van’s excellent melody can be heard.  
  
_Tell me why you act so tongue tied, I know,_  
  
Liliver kicks off again with the drums halfway through the line, explosively loud. If she keeps going like this, she’s going to break more sets of drumsticks than usual. My chord progression joins back in.  
  
_You can tell that somethings not right, it shows,  
  
Got caught up in all my white lies, oh no,  
  
_I can feel Cardan’s eyes on me again, so I look directly at him, refusing to back down this time.  
  
_And now we’re going up in flames.  
  
Going up in flames,  
  
_There’s another small break before the second verse, a bar of only Van’s playing. The bass re-starts at the same time as I sing.  
  
_Come to me with all your complaints,  
  
Acting like you’re a saint,  
  
_Cardan’s moving while he plays, stealing closer to me with every step.  
  
_Innocent,  
  
You’ll pretend,  
  
_He’s a foot away from me. I shoot him a look so acidic I’m partly surprised he stays standing.  
  
_Forgive me, forget-me-nots,  
  
It doesn’t matter because,  
  
_He’s so close to me. He’s infuriating. I have to concentrate on the chord progressions my hands are playing. It’s going to be an effort not to punch his stupid face off.  
  
_We’re out of touch._  
  
We move into the pre-chorus again. He’s just close enough that both of can play without being interrupted, but that _too close_. His eyes don’ leave mine even as I sing the chorus. He bows his head when it comes to the bridge.  
  
_I’m gonna watch  
  
Gonna watch us burn down,  
  
_I can feel his hair on my exposed shoulder.  
  
_I’m gonna watch,  
  
Gonna watch us burn down  
  
‘Cause we’re going up in flames._  
  
When he breathes to heavily it ghosts over my skin.  
  
_I’m gonna watch,  
  
Gonna watch us burn down_,  
  
His hands move deftly over the thick strings.  
  
_I’m gonna watch,  
  
Gonna watch us burn down,  
  
‘Cause we’re going up in flames,_  
  
The last pre-chorus and and chorus are quieter. We’re halfway through the chorus when he finally moves away from me. I feel like I can finally breathe again.  
  
The song fades out slowly, until the only sound is the deafening roar of the crowd.  
  
Someone from the mosh pit yells, “Step on me you hot bitch!”  
  
I smirk and wink in the general direction of the shout. Everyone there screams.  
  
“Now,” I say into the microphone, “Back to your regularly scheduled content.”  
  
___  
  
We play until we’re drenched with sweat and our fingers are sore, transitioning from the softer stuff like **VICES** and **Blackout** to the angry stuff that makes my voice ache like **I Threw Glass at My Friend’s Eye and Now I’m on Probation, How A Heart Unbreaks** and my personal favourite, **How Do You Love?**  
  
With the final chords, drum beats and notes, I say, “Thank you, Chicago! It’s been an honour.”  
  
We file off together to hollers and shouts, waving and grinning as we go.  
  
As soon as we’ve made it off stage I round on Cardan, “What the fuck was that?”  
  
He smiles and suddenly he’s all wicked lines and cruel sneers, “What was what?”  
  
“Don’t play dumb with me. Never get that close to me again.”  
  
His lip curled, “What exactly are you gonna do about it? Complain to your _manager_ again?”  
  
Oh, he was completely insufferable. My fists bawled of their own accord. Before the feather light touch on my arm could stop me, I was already swinging.


	2. Madison, WI (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the fake dating comes in now

It’s a good thing I’m excellent at make-up. There’s a big purple bruise flowering over my left cheekbone, in the rough shape of Jude’s fist.  
  
I’ll admit it, I didn’t think she’d _actually_ fucking punch me. I guess I should’ve seen it coming though, she did have that incident a year or so ago when she’d kicked the shit out of her (now) ex boyfriend after finding out he’d been in a relationship with her twin sister the entire time. Locke has always been a _bit_ of a dickbag  
  
“Oi!” Liliver yells from outside my room, “Taryn’s calling in, get your ass out here!”  
  
“Give me a minute.” I say, dabbing a little more concealer on and sending a Snapchat to Nicasia from a truly unflattering angle. I unlock my door and step out, walking to the small communal living area. Jude’s already glaring at me. With immense amounts of spite, I blow a kiss to her.   
  
Liliver and Roach look at us uncertainly. Cautiously, Liliver turns the laptop sat in front of them to face me. On the screen is a woman completely identical in every way, except she has all ten of her fingers. Jude has nine and a half, not that I noticed or anything. This must be the twin who dated Jude’s boyfriend  
  
“Cardan.” The woman said. “Thanks for joining us.”  
  
“Sure thing,” I say, “How’s Locke?”  
  
Her eyes tighten, “I wouldn’t know.”  
  
Broken up, then. “Shame. All that scandal for nothing.”  
  
I grin as Jude’s hands fist at her sides. She should punch me again.  
  
“Taryn,” Liliver prompts, “You were telling Cardan the, uh, plan.”  
  
“Yes, she was.” Jude says, glaring at me. I flop onto a nearby chair and gesture for her to continue.  
  
“Well, as your PR manager,” Taryn says carefully, like she’s thinking , “I’ve become aware of some...tweets about you and Jude. Specifically about the apparent _sexual tension_ between you two during the Chicago show.”  
  
Jude snarls, “I’ve told you, there weren’t no fuckin’ sexual tension!” at the same time that I exclaim, “The _what_?”  
  
Taryn puts both her hands out in surrender, “I’m just stating what twitter says. I wasn’t there.”  
  
Moodily, I fold my arms across my chest.  
  
The Skype chat pings and Liliver brings up the messages Taryn sent through. They’re all screenshots of tweets. Clicking on each one individually, Liliver and Van read them out, both sounding like they’re trying not to laugh.  
  
“I only watched the broadcasted version of the Court of Shadow’s Chicago show,” Van reads aloud, “But even I saw how tense and heated it was between the Queen and the temp bassist.”  
  
Jude growls, thin and low.   
  
Liliver says, like she’s reading from a stuffy 19th century poem, “The Queen seems to be over the mysterious boy from **How A Heart Unbreaks** and has now started something with the mysterious bassist.”  
  
I scoff.  
  
Van, copying Liliver’s tone but making it more like a British stenotype, says, “That bit where the bassist put his head on the Queen’s shoulder and played for like half song? That’s hot girl shit.”  
  
I appreciate the reference but not the message.  
  
Liliver starts to read more, but Taryn interrupts, “Yes, they all convey the same...message. I have decided that, in a good PR move, that you two should date.”  
  
Jude takes this news about as well as I expected. She explodes, “Taryn! You can’t just force people to fucking date for your fucking PR shit!”  
  
Taryn impatiently waits while Jude calms down. “It won’t be real, dickhead.”  
  
Ah, there. You can tell the two are related.  
  
She continues, “Just a fake thing, you know. The fans would love it. Kisses on cheeks, holding hands on coffee runs, adoring looks, that sort of stuff.”  
  
The idea of kissing Jude’s cheek isn’t as physically revolting as I thought it would be. Still, I’m half-expecting someone to pull out a camera and yell _PRANKED!_  
  
That’s not going to happen though, because we’re all using our real names.  
  
Jude looks at me scornfully, “I am _not_ even _fake_ dating him.”  
  
“For once,” I say drily, “I agree with Jude. I don’t want her anywhere near me.”  
  
Taryn snaps, in a truly Jude-like fashion, “Well get over it, because you’re doing it.” She visibly struggled to calm herself. “This isn’t a choice, you two. The fans are going to love it. You can reveal it at the Madison show, a kiss or something like that. I leave it to you.”  
  
I swallow down another witty comment, glaring at Taryn on the screen instead.  
  
“Garrett and I will be watching, so don’t think you can get away with not doing it.” Taryn says, slightly softer.  
  
Garrett... I sift through my head for why the name rings a bell. _Oh,_ Garrett. The Ghost. The normal bass player that broke his  
  
Jude’s angry expression crumbled. “How’s he doing?”  
  
“He’s doing fine, Jude. You two should brainstorm your plan for showing the public.” With that, Taryn clicks out of video chat.  
  
___  
  
I didn’t know Jude had tattoos. As we stand backstage, I’m trying not to let my eyes fix on her thigh, where a tattoo of a sword sits, inscribed with words I can’t read and covered in plants I can’t name.  
  
We have a plan. Well, she has a plan that she didn’t deign to tell me.  
  
A stage assistant gives me the go ahead so I stride across the stage, all the lights still down, and sling my bass over my shoulders. Liliver does the same, then Van. They’re both well practiced at it, moving soundlessly into place. I’ll have to ask them to show me how to do that.  
  
Jude takes her place. There’s the usual countdown, with the lights flaring on and all the dramatics. Jude does her little speech, and then announces that the song chosen for us to cover was **Love Story** by Taylor Swift.   
  
It’s a massive genre change, but I’m extremely talented at everything, so it’s not a big difference.  
  
I play my part as Jude sings of ballrooms, young love and candlelight. Just before the chorus, I look toward her, only to find that she’s already looking at me.   
  
She grins, completely feral.  
  
 _You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess,  
  
It’s a love story, baby, just say yes,  
  
_My mouth quirks into some semblance of a smile. She continues on into the second chorus.  
  
 _We keep quiet ‘cause we’re dead if they knew,  
  
So close your eyes,_  
  
In a terrible display of weakness, I let my eyes drift close. When I open them again, she was halfway to me, circling like a predator around its prey. She’s moving back into the chorus, pre-chorus aside.  
  
 _Romeo, save me, they’re trying to tell me how to feel.  
  
_ She’s keeping prowling closer, her face a mixture of victory and horror.  
  
 _This love is difficult, but it’s real.  
  
Don’t be afraid, we’ll make it out of this mess,_  
  
She’s close enough that I can see every feature on her lovely, angry face.  
  
 _It’s a love story, baby, just say yes,_  
  
She grabs the back of my neck, pulling me down so that my mouth crashes into hers. Her hand lets go, and I recognise the sound of the rhythm guitar joining back in. That causes me to unfreeze, my hands playing the simple bass line easily, as our mouths move together.  
  
She only pulls away when it’s her cue to sing, staying near me for the rest of the song. I can barely hear her over the wave of screams and wolf whistles coming from the crowd.  
  
 _I keep waiting for you but you never come  
  
Is this in my head?  
  
I don’t know what to think.  
  
he knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring_,  
  
Well I am certainly not going to do that. I’m not going to fake-marry Jude just for press coverage. I’m do have dignity.   
  
Just before the song ends, she lets one of her hands drift across my chest, a touch so light it’s barely there.   
  
She transitions effortlessly into the next song, **Hands Off.** I barely pay attention, my fingers picking the bass lines when my brain is still hazy, confused, and full of the taste of mint and strawberry chapstick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song mentioned at the end is Hands Off by Mothica


	3. St. Paul, Minnesota (Jude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is How Do You Love by the Regrettes.  
> If you're interested, listen to the song (and the band - i love them) because thats how I imagine Jude's voice to sound like

_I think our Queen has found her King :)  
  
_ I should really get off the Twitter hashtag #CourtOfShadows.  
  
 _That kiss was so sweet!!!!! You can really tell that they like each other_.  
  
I actually snort out loud at that one, half tempted to reply and tell them _just_ how wrong they are.  
  
 _The way that she kissed him after that one line from Love Story. I ship them so hard omg  
  
_ Van plucks my phone out of my hand. “You’re just going to get mad if you keep looking at those.”  
  
I take a swipe at my phone, but he dances out of my reach.   
  
“I’m already mad.” I tell him, because Taryn is forcing us all to go get coffee. By that, I mean she’s forcing _me and Cardan_ to get coffee and act like a motherfucking couple, while Lili and Van tagged along.  
  
“Yeah.” He agrees, “you always are.”  
  
Cardan clatters into the room, because people just _have_ to know where he is and what he’s doing because he’s just _so_ important. He’s wearing an oversized sweater that hangs to his mid-thigh.  
  
“Are you ready to go,” his lip curls upward, a cruel smile flickering over his face, “my love?”  
  
I fake gag, but stand. Throwing one last revolted look at him, I thread my arm through his. His sweater is soft to the exposed skin of my arms. He tangles his fingers together with a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. The back of his hand is warm against my fingertips.  
  
“You two both need to work on your faces.” Liliver tells us.  
  
I try to smooth my face out to a bland but happy smile. Liliver studies my expression for a moment before giving me a thumbs up. She gestures to the door.  
  
There’s no one in the hotel lobby aside from the receptionist and a couple of bellhops. The receptionist smiles widely. “I enjoyed your show last night.”  
  
“Thank you. And thanks for watching.” I tell her. Her eyes keep darting to the way my arm is wrapped around Cardan’s.   
  
“I don’t want to trouble you all, but could I, uh, get a photo?”  
  
“Sure.” I tug on Cardan’s arm as the woman steps out from behind her desk. He follows compliantly as we all file in, making sure that we’re all in frame. My hand doesn’t leave Cardan’s. Both our palms are already slick with sweat, which is gross. The receptionist takes the picture then closes her phone.  
  
“Thanks so much.” She says, smiling. She digs around on her desk for a second before producing a Sharpie and a pad of paper. “could you sign this?”  
  
“No problem.” Liliver says, taking the offered pen and paper and signing _The Bomb_ along with a doodle of a cartoon bomb. Van takes the pad next, writing _The Roach_ with a smiley face in the O. I take it, signing my fake name, a crown topping the Q in _The Queen_. I’m about to hand the paper to Cardan, like I would Garrett, but it dawns on me (much to my pleasure) that Cardan doesn’t have a name to the fans. He’s just ‘the bassist. Nameless, unknown.  
  
Before I can pass the receptionist her paper back, Cardan takes both it and the Sharpie from my hand, easily scrawling _The King_ next to my name, the same doodle of the crown topping the K, slightly crookedly.   
  
My arm tightens around his so much that I think I could constrict blood flow. I hope that’ll happen. He hands the receptionist her paper and she thanks us, multiple times and with wide eyes, before we can get away.  
  
Our failure to get out quickly allowed people to start blocking up the sidewalk. We walk outside. A few people take photos. I take the opportunity to give in to Taryn’s wishes of _couple stuff,_ and I hide my head in his chest. If he’s surprised he doesn’t show it, the hand not holding mine coming to rest on my back as we kept walking.   
  
I wait until we round the corner to unbury my head. I hold myself at a distance for the rest of the walk to the coffee shop.  
  
___  
  
We’re halfway through the show when Cardan makes his way across the stage to me. His bass is slung low so he can play it with as minimal effort as possible. Admittedly, he hasn’t made a mistake. Like, _ever_ , so I can’t even complain about it justifiably.   
  
The start to **How Do You Love?** Is angry and intense. I sing at the first time as all the instruments come in, nothing subtle about it.  
  
 _I sit quietly on my phone,  
  
Trying to enjoy time alone.  
  
_I clap between the first two lines. One-two. It’s copied by the crowd. I let my face split into a grin.  
  
_“Don’t think so much” I tell myself when I start thinking.  
  
_ No pause between the next lines.  
  
 _Wanna enjoy all this breathing without drinking.  
  
Why do they look so in love?_  
  
I feel like I can sense everyone else on the stage. Van stays in his little box as he plays, occasionally wandering back to Liliver, and then to the front again. Lili, obviously stays at her drums. Cardan, _Cardan_ is right next me, head down, eyes on his bass, but about half a foot away from me. I don’t look at him.  
  
Clap, one-two.  
  
 _The couple walking by, well maybe they’re on drugs,  
  
“Don’t look too much” I tell myself when I start staring,  
  
Maybe theres something in the perfume that shes wearing._  
  
Cardan looks up, I feel his eyes roaming my face, but I still keep my face turned toward the crowd. Liliver hums back-in vocals during the pre chorus.  
  
 _It’s the little things I can’t understand.  
  
How they love, lie, pass it and keep holding hands  
  
It’s the little things I’ll never understand,  
  
I think it must be fake like a fake spray tan,  
  
_Cardan’s hand wraps round mine on the microphone stand, and his hip butts me slightly to the side and, as we launch into the chorus, he sings along.  
  
 _How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
_Van plays the riff again. When I sing the second verse, Cardan interjects only at the end of the line to sing back-in vocals.  
  
 _I tried to read myself to sleep,  
  
_ Clap, one-two  
  
 _It just gives me anxiety.  
  
_ He knocks against the body of his bass in time with my claps. One-two.  
  
 _How will I know where I am when I start sleeping?  
  
I feel the same way about cuddling, but for dreaming.  
  
_He’s got a decent voice, actually. Husky but smooth. But not good enough to usurp me completely.  
  
 _Distractions can be hard to find.  
  
But I suggest just make a list and you’ll be fine,  
  
Write down all the things you wanna learn to do,  
  
Enjoy your favourite movies, starting old to new,  
  
_I move my foot and click the reverb pedal by my feet for the last pre chorus and chorus.  
  
 _It’s the little things I can’t understand,  
  
How they look, lie, pass it and keep holding hands  
  
_When Cardan sings, he does so when I’m halfway through the first word, creating a low echo effect which, I’ll admit (grudgingly) makes the song sound slightly better.  
  
 _It’s the little things I’ll never understand,  
  
I think it must be fake like a fake spray tan,  
  
_Cardan squeezes my hand, which is still trapped underneath his, once before we start the chorus again.  
  
 _How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
_There’s a reason I love performing this song so much. The crowd yells my words back at me while I say them, trying hard to copy the vocal acrobatics on the third line. Even with Cardan’s hand over mine, even with his body pressed as close as possible without hindering either of our performances, I feel completely exhilarated. Free, even.   
  
_How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
How do you love?  
  
_The song end with a final riff from Lili and Van. The crowd yells obscenities. I don’t hear what they say, just incoherent babble, but Cardan frowns. He slings his bass over his back and leans into the microphone.  
  
“Hey, loser. Yeah, you, in the red shirt.”   
  
The camera that train on us and broadcast the picture to the screen behind swivel to find said loser in said red shirt. He looks incredibly embarrassed. It’s kind of funny, how he’s turned the same colour as his shirt.  
  
“Care to repeat what you just said?”  
  
The whole venue is unusually quiet. I catch Van’s eye and he shrugs.  
  
“Uh,” the guy says, “I asked the Queen to peg me within an inch of my life.”  
  
A ripple of laughter spreads throw the audience.   
  
Cardan strolls very casually to the edge of the stage. He stops where he’s closest to the guy and crouches down. “I’m afraid your request has been denied. There’s only one guy she’s pegging right now, and thats me. Please try again never.”  
  
There are screams from the crowd  
  
I feel my face flush hot and I glare at him. Even if it’s a completely false, he shouldn’t have said that.  
  
“Go ahead and tell everyone our personal lives, why don’t you?” I growl out. He slowly turns and walks back to me. Faking playfulness, I incline my first finger in a _come hither_ gesture. He smirks and walks forward, as someone in the crowd wolf-whistles.  
  
Somewhere behind me, Van says, “Our next song is **Chelsea Dagger.”  
  
** Liliver starts the drum beat. I lean in close to Cardan’s ear and whisper, “I’m going to kill you.”  
  
He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “Oh, stop being such a tease.”  
  
  



	4. Topeka, KS (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh?

“You absolute fucking jackass!”   
  
I raise an eyebrow. Jude launches a pillow at me, which I swiftly dodge.  
  
“What’s all this about?”  
  
Jude hurls another pillow at me. It hits me squarely in the jaw.   
  
“ _Bitch.”_ I spit at her.  
  
“You and your fucking _antics-_ ”  
  
“ _Antics?_ What is this, the goddamn 19th century?”  
  
“Stop messing about, you bastard. The fucking stunt you pulled in Minnesota? It got fucking press coverage you _bastard._ ”  
  
She throws another pillow, which I catch this time. I hold it in front of me to defend myself. “How was I supposed to know that?”  
  
“You said it on a _livestreamed_ show! In front of a fucking audience!”  
  
I don’t fight my smile. “And?”  
  
She groans, low and aggravated, her hands flying to her hip as if to pull a sword. “ _And,_ you didn’t think about the repercussions! You’re gonna be known as the guy that gets pegged! I’m gonna be known as the lead singer who pegs her _boyfriend._ ”  
  
She spat the final word like acid. I say, “People’ll forget about it in a week.”  
  
“No they-” _  
  
_ “I hate to interrupt this lover’s quarrel.” Liliver says from the doorway, not looking or sounding very sorry at all, “but we need to contribute songs for the poll.  
  
Jude harrumphs but flings herself into the nearest chair. It doesn’t have any cushions on it, the reason for this being that she has thrown every last one at me in a fit of righteous anger.  
  
I don’t regret what I said; her face was too priceless for me to do that. Her mouth had been slightly parted, her entire face bright red, her eyes a mix of disbelieving and fury.  
  
I take a seat on the couch right next to her, lounging across the length of it in a move sure to infuriate her. Liliver hits my shoe, so I move just enough for her to perch at the end of the couch. She has her phone in her hands, messages to Taryn open.  
  
“Taryn says that we should think about songs with two vocal parts, because people enjoyed when Cardan joined in last show.”  
  
“I’m not-” Jude starts.  
  
I cut her off, “Wicked. My suggestion is **The Cult of Dionysus** by The Orion Experience.”  
  
Liliver nods and types it into her phone, “My thing is **Just One Yesterday** by Fall Out Boy.”  
  
Van says, “ **11 Minutes** by us.”  
  
Liliver keeps typing. We all wait for Jude to say her song. She worries her bottom lip with her thumb before saying, “ **Rat a Tat** by Fall Out Boy.”  
  
Liliver finishes typing and sends the text to Taryn. “Great. Now what the fuck is wrong with you two?“ She gestures to me and Jude.  
  
Jude glares at her. “I’m sure you could guess.”  
  
“I could,” Liliver says mildly, “But I can’t be assed. Tell me or get dressed for the show.”  
  
I look at my phone screen, eyes barely grazing the notifications, and ignoring the time altogether. “Would you look at that, it’s getting late. We better all get ready for the show if we want to make it to sound check on time.”  
  
In a rare moment of co-operation, Jude looks to her bare wrist as if it held a watch, “so it is. I’m going to get dressed, I’ll see you all in a minute or two.”  
  
___  
  
There’s a microphone where I usually stand. This hasn’t escaped the attention of the audience, who were chattering excitedly. The stadium lights went down. A blanket of quiet descended over the crowd, the anticipation becoming thick in the air.  
  
I make my way over to my place, bass slung low on my shoulder. I move soundlessly. I asked Van how the three of them moved so quietly, and he showed me how to slyfoot. Liliver moves into place. Van. Jude.  
  
The light above me flares on. I don’t find it quite as disorienting as the past few times. I strum a little riff that I’ve been working on as people cheer. One by one, my other bandmates are revealed.  
  
Jude speaks after the cheering has quietened down, her pretty voice causing a cease to any other noise. “Hello, Topeka.”  
  
There’s more cheering. She waits calmly before saying, “I’m the Queen of Shadows and this is my court.”  
  
Someone screams embarrassingly loud.   
  
A small, amused smile plays at the corner of her mouth. “A lot of people have been requesting for our bassist to sing. So, our first song of the night, as voted by you lovely people, is **Just One Yesterday** by Fall Out Boy.”   
  
The stage light dims slightly, turning a deep purple and casting haunting shadows on Jude’s face. Van strums once, letting the chord ring out before Liliver kicks in with drums at the same time I start the bass line and start singing. It’s an effort, but I am the best at everything, so it’s no big deal.  
  
 _I thought of angels, choking on their halos  
  
Get them drunk on rosewater  
  
See how dirty I can get them, pulling out their fragile teeth,  
  
And clip their tiny wings,_  
  
The audience seems deafening, the only sound I can hear is the vague noises of the band behind me and the sound of my own voice echoing off the inside of my skull.  
  
 _Anything you **say can and will be held against you**_   
  
_So only say my **name**  
  
 **It will be held against you**_ **  
  
**Jude echoes some of my words, taking the part of Foxes.  
  
 _Anything you **say can and will be held against you**  
  
So only say my name_  
  
I stop singing for a second or two to let Liliver do her fill, then launch into the chorus, louder and bolder.  
  
 _If heaven’s grief brings hell’s rain,  
  
Then I’d **trade all my tomorrows** for just one yesterday  
  
( **I know I’m bad news)  
  
** For just one yesterday,  
  
 **(I saved it all for you)**_  
  
Jude’s voice is really, really good. It fills my ears like honey and invades my mindspace. I’m finding it hard to breathe.  
  
 ** _I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way,  
  
_** _Still, I’d **trade all my tomorrows** for just one yesterday,  
  
 **(I know I’m bad news)  
  
** Just one yesterday,  
  
( **I saved it all for you)  
  
** For just one yesterday.  
  
_Van lets his chord ring once more as Liliver does the drum beat leading into second verse. One-two-one-four.  
  
 _Letting people down is my thing baby,  
  
Find yourself a new gig,  
  
This town ain’t big enough for two of us,  
  
 **I don’t have the right name,**  
  
O-o-o-or **the right looks,**  
  
 **But I have twice the heart,  
  
**_ We transition into the pre-chorus. My fingers are moving on autopilot. My blood feels like electricity, especially when Jude copies my vocal run during the last word.  
  
The chorus comes around once more. When Jude sings her parts, she looks me in the eyes, singing “I know I’m bad news.”  
  
The third verse arrives, and the music slows. We don’t have a piano, but the instrument isn’t missed as we keeping playing our parts, but quieter. Liliver has to stop completely. This verse is just Jude, so I can concentrate on keeping my fingers in the right frets.  
  
 _If I spill my guts,_

 _The world would never look at you the same way,_  
  
Her voice is soft and agonised in all the right places. She’s pouring emotion into this; I can see it in her eyes. ** _  
  
_** _Now I’m here, to give you all my love,  
  
So I can watch your face as I take it all away, away, away,   
  
_I start on the chorus for the final time, as she lets out an impressively long _yeah._ Part of me wants to know who she thought of to sing like that.  
  
The song settles down into nothing. I listen to the people yell and scream, letting the electric sparks in my veins fizzle out into nothing. My throat is raw, I’m not used to singing for that long.   
  
But then Jude catches my eye and grins. It’s a genuine smile, no mockery to be found, and it almost makes my sore throat worth it. ****  
  



	5. Austin, TX (Jude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this would have gone up this morning but I'm a dumbass and posted this chapter to the wrong fic

We have an opening act.  
  
Only for while we’re in Texas, but that’s five shows. There’s this one in Austin, then Houston, and then Dallas, not to mention the fact that that we have to loop round and do Odessa and Amarillo.   
  
We’re used to doing one or two, maybe three, shows in one state. But since Texas is so fucking massive we’re doing a ton.   
  
Anyway, opening act means an extra tour bus. An extra tour bus that are full people that are under the impression that Cardan and I are in sweet, sweet love. It makes me want to die inside, the mere prospect of having to _act_ like I can _stand_ him for a week or so.  
  
Someone hammers on my door and yells incomprehensively. I take out my earphones, cutting off the recorded version of someone covering one of our songs, and shove them in my hoodie pocket. Well, not _my_ hoodie pocket. The hoodie belongs to Cardan, because (and I quote) “Isn’t that what people do? Give each other clothes and things?”  
  
I hutch the sleeves up to my elbows because its hot as balls in Texas, and I’m wearing his _hoodie_. Someone bangs on my door again.  
  
“I’m coming, calm your tits!” I yell at them, and then storm to my door. All three of my bandmates are outside my door. Cardan grins, more of a cruel smirk than anything.  
  
“Took you long enough.” He offers me an arm, “Do you care to join me in greeting this lovely new band?”  
  
I take his arm because I have no choice, and glower at him. He doesn’t seem too affected by it. Maybe he’s developing an immunity.  
  
We walk, arm in arm, out into blistering heat. I’m pretty sure I’m sweating everywhere, which can’t be very attractive of me.  
  
What the _fuck._ I don’t care whether or not I look attractive to _Cardan._ Screw him.   
  
The other tour bus for the opening act is parked across the lot to ours. It’s significantly smaller, with the words _Juno and the Pixies_ scrawled on the side, along with a well-painted version of that one renaissance painting with God and the nearly touching fingers. I think it’s called The Creation of Adam.   
  
The doors are flung open, and three girls and two guys step out. The leading girl has bleach blonde hair with the roots grown out, a rather bored gaze, and a very short skirt. She reaches me and holds out her hand. “I’m Juno. I’m vocalist and rhythm guitar”  
  
“Jude. I do the same as you.”  
  
They maintain eye contact with me as we shake hands. She has a very firm handshake. She drops her hands and waves to her band members one by one. “That’s Rose, she’s on keyboard and co-vocals.”  
  
A small, pale, ginger girl waves. She’s tapping her fingers along her thighs. She’s wearing jeans, which does _not_ look comfortable. I’m literally only wearing Cardan’s hoodie and linen shorts, and I’m about to sweat my tits off.  
  
“Uh, Hugo. Melodic guitar.”  
  
Hugo is fucking seven feet tall. Seriously, that man looks like he has a hard time going through normal person doors. He’s wearing glasses and looks like he isn’t paying attention. He inclines his head once.  
  
“Agnes. She’s bass.”  
  
Agnes, which is a super old name for such a young looking person, has a proper baby face and a messy dark brown ponytail. She nods at Cardan, but doesn’t look any of us in the eyes. I feel a twinge of something that’s oddly like _jealousy._ I scowl, mostly at myself for being such a dumb bitch, but tighten my grip on his arm.  
  
“Finally, that’s Kyle.”  
  
“Sup’” Kyle says.  
  
If Hugo was seven feet tall, Kyle’s fucking bigfoot. He’s all big and gangly, with blonde hair and a backwards camp. It’s so _gauche,_ just like he stepped out of a 90s sitcom.   
  
Liliver nods at him. “ ‘sup.”  
  
“Right,” I say, jabbing my thumb behind me in a vague approximation of where my band mates are. “Cardan, bass. Liliver, drums. Van, guitar. You know what happens if you leak our names.”  
  
I look at Juno. She has the same kind of eyes as Cardan, so dark brown that they appear black. But, where hers a warm, Cardan’s are cold and cruel. They nod.  
  
I say, “You want to get coffee or some shit? Taryn says we need to interact or something.”  
  
Juno checks their phone, “I know this great pizza place. Get your boytoy and your friends, I’ll gather the Scooby gang and we can go there.”  
  
I nod, flushing slightly when they say _boytoy._  
  
___  
  
They’re good. They’re like _really_ good. Juno has this voice that can go from throaty to whistle notes in a second. Right now they’re singing a song about churches, with themes of paganism, and before they covered a Florence + The Machine song. It’s pretty cool, overall.  
  
When they’ve finished their set, they thank the crowd and march off. Juno takes one look at the way I’m curled half-in, half-out of a sleeping Cardan’s lap and looks away. I’m glad she did. I’m already uncomfortable enough where I am, and I don’t need spectators.   
  
I nudge Cardan’s side and he jolts awake. He rubs his hand down my back one before yawning, “Shit, is it time to go on?”  
  
I unfurl from his lap and slide to my feet. “Yep. Get up, fuckface.”  
  
Someone laughs from behind me. It sounds like Liliver.   
  
We all march on stage. It’s a rather repetitive process after the first few states. Go on stage. Everyone gets introduced. I say my bit. We sing the poll song. **VICES, Juicebox Baby, American River, strawberry lipstick**.  
  
“Ok, so this is a new one for the set list.” I say next. “This is a new song. I’ve had it written for a while, but this is the first time anyone is going to hear it.”  
  
People scream and shout. I smile and lean in close to the microphone. “You losers ready to hear **New Perspective**?”  
  
The crowd yells again. They sound so excited, I can’t help but smile.   
  
This is a rather upbeat song, compared to the rest of ours. Van kicks the song off with one bar of incredibly effected melody. Liliver joins in with a two-kick drum beat, at the same time that Cardan starts his bass line. Four more bars, and then I sing.  
  
 _I feel the salty waves come in,  
  
I feel them crash against my skin,  
  
And I smile as I respire,  
  
Because I know they’ll never win.  
  
_There isn’t a pause between the verse and pre-chorus. Unwillingly, my head turns fractionally toward Cardan. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed, by him and the crowd.  
  
 _There’s a haze above my TV,  
  
That changes everything I’ll see,  
  
And maybe if I continue watching,  
  
I’ll lose the traits that worry me,  
  
_The instruments get quieter in a quick scale. I lean forward until my lips almost brush the microphone.  
  
 _Can we fast-forward to go down on me?  
  
_ There’s a whoop from the crowd. I pull back to strum three time in quick succession, a C minor, in an up-down-up strum.  
  
 _Stop there, and let me correct it,  
  
I wanna live a life from a new perspective,  
  
_I turn my head to fully look Cardan in the eye.  
  
 _You come along because I love your face,  
  
And I’ll admire your expensive taste   
  
And who cares? Divine intervention,   
  
I wanna be praised from a new perspective,  
  
But leaving now would be a good idea,  
  
So catch me up I’m getting out of here,  
  
_I look away from Cardan as the instrumental bit starts, focusing on my guitar and the chords. I can feel his gaze burning into the back of my skull by I stubbornly ignore him.  
  
 _Taking everything for granted, but we still respect the time.  
  
_ I wonder if he’s caught on to the meaning of the song.  
  
 _We move along with some new passion knowing everything is fine,  
  
_ I wonder if the audience has.  
  
 _Knowing everything is fine,  
  
And I’d wait and watch the hours fall  
  
In a hundred separate lines  
  
But I gain repose and wonder how I ended up inside.  
  
_Back to the pre-chorus. Cardan hasn’t stopped looking at me. I’m pretty sure that he’s moved closer, but I’m not going to look at him and check.  
  
The chorus, again. He’s definitely moved closer. His foot nudges mine as I sing of beautiful faces and expensive tastes. I close my eyes as we move on to the bridge. Liliver stops the drum beat.  
  
 _More to the point, I need to show,  
  
How much I can come and go,  
  
Other plans fell through,  
  
And put a heavy load on you,   
  
_Cardan buries his head in the crook between my shoulder and my neck, his hot breath flushing across my exposed skin. What a day to wear an off-shoulder top, huh? I can feel his breath skimming down my back.  
  
 _I know there’s no more that need be said  
  
When I’m inching through your bed,  
  
Take a look around instead an watch me go,  
  
_Cardan presses his lips to my neck. I have to work to keep my breath under control. His lips are, like, _really_ soft. How much lipbalm does this guy use? Jesus, fuck.  
  
The chorus is played one final time, with only me and Cardan playing, and then eventually levelling off into just me singing the final line.  
  
I let people scream their hearts out. Then I pull away from Cardan and sling my guitar over my back. Scowling at him, because my face is turned away from the crowd, I put one hand on his chest, then reach up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.   
  
Into my ear, he says quietly, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t write that about me, darling.”  
  
  



	6. Dallas, TX (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jude: yeah I hate you but that doesn't mean i won't make out with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO COME OUT   
> i had to do my mocks and thats like two weeks of revising every night and multiple exams everyday so- my mental health is fine rn i swear lmao :)

No one was speaking. This was, in part, because of the fact that the two bands didn’t really know each other. It was, majorly, because of the last exchange between Jude and me.  
  
Jude had been repeatingly kicking my ankle with the hard soles of her shoes.  
  
In my sweetest tone, I had said, “Stop it, you fuckface.”  
  
Almost involuntarily, she had said, “You think my face is fuckable?”  
  
Now everyone sat in awkward silence. I’m still trying to decide whether it was funny or not. It probably was, but I think it would probably be looked down upon if I laughed. I think laughing would all be worth it, if just to see Jude’s face.   
  
She’s bright red already. It’s hilarious. I nudge her foot with mine, and she returns it with a sharp kick to my ankle.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ.” She says, and that sets me off. I start laughing. The opening band starts nervously chuckling along with me as I double over laughing breathlessly.   
  
When I’ve stopped laughing enough to straighten up, her face is the brightest shade of red I’ve ever seen, and she’s glaring at me as though her eyes will burn into my skull.  
  
“I need a drink.” She decides, standing up. She heads over to the small mini-fridge that we keep stocked with more alcohol than food. Before she can actually select a bottle of beer, her phone pings. She pulls it out of her pocket. Her eyes scan across it for a moment before she roughly shoves it back in her back pocket. “Fuck, I _really_ need a drink.”  
  
“We have two days until the show.” Says the small ginger girl from the opening act, “And I know that there’s a few good clubs in Dallas.”  
  
I turn to the girl. Rose, I think her name is, “And how do you know this?”  
  
“I used to live there.” She says, her accent sanding the vowels of the words.  
  
I mean, I knew they were all from around here (the accents kind of give it away), but I figured they were from Austin, because that’s where they met us.”  
  
“Then it sounds like a solid plan.”  
  
___  
  
Jude looks good _._ I mean, like, _good_ good. She’s got in this skin-tight, black dress that clings to her every curve, ending at her the edge of her thigh, so that the tip of her dagger tattoo peaks out. Her hair is down and floating about her shoulders.  
  
Truth be told, there’s nothing extraordinary about the outfit at all. On _her,_ though, it’s a different matter. I hate myself for thinking that way.  
  
I offer her my arm smugly, at which she scowls but takes. Her hand seems to burn down through the leather of my jacket and sear itself into my skin.  
  
Rose, now wearing what is essentially a sundress, leads us out of the hotel and past tall office building, into the seedier side of town. Finally, we stop at a club with barely any line in front of it. The bouncer takes one look at Rose, Juno and Hugo and whatever the other band members names were, and grunts. He holds out a stamp.   
  
We all start filing in, letting the bouncer roughly press the ink-slick stamp onto the backs of our hands. The little logo is two upside down triangles. Surrounded by a circle.  
  
The inside of the club is packed with bodies, all dyed multi-coloured in the glow of flashing lights, all moving in the general tempo of the hideous electronica pulsating through the floor.  
  
I yell to the two merged bands, “Anyone want a drink?”  
  
“Oh, fuck yeah.” Jude says immediately. Truly a girl after my own heart.   
  
Everyone else agreed, asking for certain things. Jude grabs my hand, sending incredibly _dumb_ electric currents all the way up my arm, and then she pulls me through the throng of bodies toward the bar.  
  
___  
  
Ok, I’ll admit, I’m still a bit hung-over. Yes, it’s been two days. My head is no longer pounding, but my throat feels kind of rough and scratchy, which isn’t good because a very drunk Jude informed me that Taryn is making me sing a song, which is part of the reason she wanted to get so well and truly sloshed.  
  
She told me this pretty early in the night, and she was already absolutely drunk. She was so much of a lightweight, it was almost cute.  
  
I tap my turned off microphone against the back of my hand, which still holds the remnants of faded ink.   
  
“Nervous?” Van asks from where he’s tuning his guitar on the couch.   
  
I smirk, “I have no reason to be.” But that isn’t an answer to his question.  
  
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, so we lapse into silence and listen to _Juno and the Pixies_ cover **Killer Queen.** The crowd seems to be loving it.  
  
“Hey,” Jude’s voice says behind me, “I need to talk to you.”  
  
I turn but she’s already walking away. I sigh and set the microphone down, then follow after her. She’s waiting round the corner, leaning against the wall with her arms folded. Once again, I’m briefly distracted by the way her legs look in her black denim skirt.  
  
“What do you want?” I ask, annoyed.  
  
“Listen, Cardan.” She grits out from between clenched teeth. “What do you remember about Wednesday night?”  
  
I raise an eyebrow. “Not much.”  
  
“What I said- it’s not-” She starts, but suddenly there’s chattering coming our way, twangy Texan accents talking about the show. Jude’s eyes turn violent, then wild, then panicked, in a span of two seconds.   
  
She seems to make a decision, one that she doesn’t look to be happy about. Just as I spot one of Juno’s heeled feet come round the corner, Jude presses me into the wall and _kisses_ me.  
  
Her mouth is angry and demanding against mine, all closed-lips and strawberry flavoured lipstick, sure to leave a stain on my mouth.   
  
Suddenly, I’m filled with white-hot anger. How fucking dare she? First of all, where was my fucking consent? Second of all, there were a million other ways to remedy this situation. My hand grips her waist (when did my hand get on her waist?) with skin-bruising force.  
  
Someone clears their throat, and I make a big show of pulling away and scowling at Kyle, who just says, “It’s time to go on.”  
  
Resisting the urge to kick Jude away from me, I stalk toward the stage.  
  
___  
  
“Our final song is going to be sung by the one, the only, the bitchiest, King of the Court.”  
  
I flash a grin at Jude, trying to put as much vehemence into the expression, to let her know I still hadn’t forgiven her for the _stunt_ she pulled earlier. I then turn and wave at the crowd.  
  
I lean into the microphone, not introducing the song. I start with a simple bass line. Van coughs twice into the microphone. Liliver kicks in with the drum beat, pausing for a second before Van and Jude come in with the rhythmic and melodic guitar.  
  
 _one, two, three,  
  
take my hand and come with me  
  
‘cause you look so fine and I really wanna make you mine,  
  
I said, you look so fine and I really wanna make you mine,  
  
_This song was specially written to make the audience believe that I’d written it for Jude. Which, of course, I hadn’t. _Obviously not._  
  
 _Four, five, six  
  
C’mon and get your kicks  
  
And you don’t need money with a face like that,  
  
Do you honey?  
  
_Jude and Van, in synchronisation, climb a scale before dropping off.  
  
 _Big black boots,  
  
_ Jude, rather helpfully, hooks her knee-high booted leg around her turned off microphone stand.  
  
 _Long brown hair,_  
  
She dips her head forward, as though she’s concentrating on her guitar, letting her hair fall in front of her face. It comes to my attention that people are screaming loudly. _Very_ loudly, in fact, louder than usual.  
  
 _She’s so sweet,  
  
With that ‘get back’ stare,_  
  
With careful precision, she looks up and meets my eyes. Something about her glare threatens violence, but I can’t pull my eyes from hers. I suppose that they’re a rather pretty shade of brown.  
  
 _I could see, you home with me,  
  
But you were with another man, yeah_.  
  
It paints a picture, it tells a tale. The story goes like this: I (for the sake of the story, of course) had a crush on Jude while she was with her ex-boyfriend, and during this (made up) time period, I wrote this song. The public needn’t know that I hastily scribbled this down a day ago. And, obviously, this is all completely fictional.  
  
 _I know we ain’t got much to say,  
  
Before I let you get away, yeah.  
  
_Jude strums three times defiantly, letting each one ring out in quick succession. All the other instruments die down until just my voice is heard.  
  
 _I said, are you gonna be my girl?  
  
_ The music starts back up again, carrying on for two bars, in which Van and Jude do their ascending scale riff once more.  
  
 _One, two, three,  
  
take my hand and come with me   
  
‘cause you look so fine and I really wanna make you mine.  
  
four, five, six,  
  
c’mon and get your kicks,  
  
and you don’t need money with a face like that, do ya?  
  
_The chorus repeats once more, Jude flicking her hair and stamping her feet and glaring at the audience subtly, for effect.  
  
Once I sing the hook, _are you gonna be my girl?,_ I stop playing bass. Jude does as well, so Van can do his solo, accompanied by Liliver keeping steady pace on her drums.  
  
 _I could see, you home with me,  
  
but you were with another man, yeah,  
  
I know we ain’t got much to say,  
  
before I let you get away, yeah,  
  
oh, be my girl,  
  
be my girl,  
  
are you gonna be my girls, yeah?  
  
_The music fizzles out into a round of tumultuous applause and whistles, loud screaming and shouting. I grin and wave.  
  
Jude unhooks her microphone from its stand and walks across the stage to me, simultaneously slinging her guitar over her back so it bounces with each step she takes.  
  
“It’s been a great evening Dallas.” She says as she reaches me, standing on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on my cheek, “I’m the Queen of Shadows, and it’s been an honour to have you in my court.”  
  
The audience makes a clusterfuck of sound as we all make our way across the stage and into backstage to say hi to those fans that bought the _really_ expensive tickets. My hand is settled around Jude’s shoulders, her arm wrapped around my middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any songs you want to be put in the fic, suggest them in the comments :)


	7. Houston, TX (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well would you look at that. practically naked cardan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song was requested by @iwantchococake, but it was already on my list.   
> this chapter was fun to write :)

  
I have royally fucked up.   
  
Cardan hasn’t talked to me since the show, which is rather impressive, since we’ve been on the same tour bus for a solid day, and now we’re in the same hotel room – purely to stop Juno and their band being suspicious, of course. He’s talked _around_ me, but never _too_ me. I’m not sure why I care so much.  
  
I pick the TV and start flipping through shitty hotel channels. Why the fuck do hotels put, like, three shows on? The fuck is this, the 1970s?  
  
I turn on some terrible 90s rom-com to drown out the sound of the shower. I don’t pay attention to it, instead I scroll through meaningless Twitter posts, not really paying attention. Well, I wasn’t paying attention until I nearly like a post of _me and Cardan._  
  
I usually make it a point to not look at any fan posts, and I especially don’t like them, because that shits public. But this one is titled _The Queen and King of Shadows: a thread_ with a highly edited photo of us on stage. I’m not entirely sure how I feel about The King sticking as a nickname. It implies things that I don’t like.  
  
I cast a glance toward the door to the bathroom, and then decide that it’s safe. I click on the thread. The first tweet is the first time Cardan stood in for Garrett. He stands off the side, not causing attention to himself (A difficult feat for him, I’m sure,). The caption reads: _When he first played, our Queen didn’t seem very interested in him._   
  
I scroll down. Theres a picture from the second show, captured when Cardan and I looked at each other. The caption this time says: _There seems to be some interest here. Something definitely happened between the two shows._ There’s a thinking emoji on the end. My breathing is heavy with anger.  
  
The third tweet holds a photo of Cardan’s head resting on my shoulder, his fingers moving deftly across the bass strings. The only words are: _I could cut the sexual tension with a knife_.  
  
My thumb trembles when I swipe down once more. I know what’s coming next. It’s a photo taken from Wisconsin, with my hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him down to bring our mouths together. The person tweeting has very simply stated: _I think something happened in Chicago._ They’ve added a winky face. I feel sick to my stomach, but I can’t stop scrolling.  
  
The next tweet has four photos attached. I click through them unsteadily. A photo of the entire band, taken in a hotel lobby, my arm wrapped around Cardan’s. A photo of us walking outside, my head pushed into his chest to hide my face from the cameras. A photo of us both singing into the same microphone. A photo of Cardan crouched by the edge of the stage, smirking. The caption says: _A lot of stuff happened in Minnesota. We finally got a name for The King, our royal couple were spotted holding hands in public multiple times, we learned that the King can sing extremely well, and he called out a heckler on stage._  
  
I have to suppress a groan at the memory of the guy in the red shirt, but I can’t stop the flush that comes to my face. I scroll. The only picture is me genuinely smiling at Cardan. The only words are: _Their first collaborative song._  
  
I scroll again. This time the photo is a zoomed in, blurry picture of Cardan with his head buried in the crook of my neck. I reach up and rub the spot on my neck where he pressed his lips. The caption is a quote, this time: _“You come along because I love your face, and I’ll admire your expensive tastes._ ”  
  
My fingers aren’t shaking anymore. The last tweet in the thread holds a photo. The caption is a quote again: _“Are you gonna be my girl?”_ and the first photo is Cardan with a lipstick-stained mouth, the second is us walking off stage with arms around each other.  
  
“Oi.” Says a voice from the doorway. I jump a mile out of my skin, then press a hand to my chest when I see Cardan in the doorway. He’s dripping wet from the shower, his black hair sticking to his forehead. Drops of water travel down his pale, bare chest. The only thing he’s wearing is a damp towel slung low on his hips. I concentrate on dragging my eyes back to his face.  
  
He smirks like he notices my attention, and then says, “Could you, my dear, call down to reception to get more conditioner? You used all of it when you were in the shower for seven fucking hours yesterday.”  
  
I turned my phone off hastily and threw it down on the bed. Cardan’s eyes followed the movement, raising one eyebrow.  
  
“Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever.” I say, getting off the bed and heading over to the small phone in the corner. I hold it to my ear until the receptionist’s pleasant voice greets me, “Hi, could we get some more conditioner in room...”   
  
My mind goes blank. I turn to face Cardan, whose eyes burn into my skin. He’s leaning against the door frame. Lazily, he holds up fingers and indicates that we’re in room 307.   
  
“Um, room 307.” I turn back to the wall, his heavy gaze making my skin crawl. The receptionist assures me that the conditioner will be brought up.   
  
From over my shoulder, Cardan all but shouts, “And some wine!”  
  
I hold my middle finger up at him, then grumble down the phone, “And some wine, if you don’t mind.”  
  
My mind says, _And an extra pillow so I can smother him in his sleep_.   
  
___  
  
Cardan singing on stage has become a regular occurrence, which I’m not sure I like it. Right now, we’re roughly half way through the show. I take off my guitar and unhook the microphone from the stand and make my way to the front of the stage.  
  
“I have to thank all of you losers for actually coming to these shows.” I say, sitting down at the edge of the stage and letting my feet dangle of the side. People whoop and holler. “I’m always surprised when people actually turn up. I think I’m still that angry teenager who was mad at her parents, her boyfriend and the world. It’s kind of wild that I can actually impact people’s lives by just being up here.”  
  
Cardan, who was passing by to grab a bottle of water, pats my shoulder and leans down enough for his words to be picked up by the microphone when he speaks, “You’re always angry, babe.”  
  
I swat at his calf as he retreats, not mean spiritedly. The audience laugh and make general cooing noises.   
  
“As I was saying, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, it’s really cool that all of you bought tickets and actually attended this concert. Whack, honestly.” I say, looking around. Liliver makes the OK gesture at me. “Now, we’ve got a new song for you all to hear. It’s a cover of **The Cult of Dionysus** by the Orion Express.”  
  
I stand as the crowd whistles cheers.   
  
Everyone starts at the same time, Cardan singing first.  
  
 _Yesterday I heard you say,  
  
your lust for life has gone away,  
  
That got me thinking, I think I feel a similar way  
  
_I join in on this line, adding reverb to my guitar when I sang,  
  
 _And that’s sad,_ **that’s sad,** _thats sad.  
  
_ Liliver kicks the drum to a stop, then starts up again for the rest of the verse.  
  
 _Let’s make a decision, start a new religion,  
  
_ Cardan presses his foot down on one of his pedals so his voice echoes on the next line.  
  
 _We’re gonna build a temple to our love  
  
Orgiastic dances, nymphs in trances,  
  
We’ll be the envy of the gods above_.  
  
Liliver and Van stop and start as the chorus flows in, only playing after we’ve switched between lines.  
  
 _I’m feeling devious,_  
  
Doesn’t he always?  
  
 **Looking glamorous _.  
  
_** We sing together for the rest of the chorus, our voices sounding pretty in a way I never thought they would.   
  
**_Let’s get mischievous,  
  
and polyamorous,  
  
wine and women and wonderful vices  
  
Welcome to the cult of Dionysus,  
  
_**Liliver hits twice at the snare and Van launches into the small instrumental section. I have to admit, this is an excellent song.   
  
_We could take a holiday, in the month of May  
  
run free and play in fields of flowers,  
  
_Cardan practically croons when he sings. It’s absolutely not endearing at all. Nope. I have no clue why you’d think that. He turns towards me and smirks as he sings the next line.  
  
 _Pass the hours making love, is how we’ll pray._  
  
There’s a hot spike of _something_ jolting through my body, and it takes all my energy to turn back to microphone and sing.   
  
**Start a secret society, for the wild and free,  
  
Our ideology is “you can do what you want,  
  
too much is never enough”  
  
We are the light we are the life,  
  
We are the envy of the gods above.  
  
**We jump into the chorus once more. Strangely, I want to take Cardan’s hand in my own. There are two reasons that this will never happen. One, we are both playing the guitar. Two, _what the fuck why do I want to hold Cardan’s hand?_  
  
Only I play in the now, a gentle strumming, with a pedal to make my guitar sound acoustic.  
  
 ** _Run, run, run away  
  
Just take my hand and we’ll abandon this world  
  
We’ll wash those tears away  
  
You’re young and beautiful and I’ll love you always,  
  
We got no time for pain  
  
When its just you and me in ecstasy, hey,  
  
_**Van launches into another guitar solo, his fingers moving fluidly from note to note, fret to fret, string to string, weaving neat melodies the way only he can.  
  
He lets the strings ring out as the singing starts back up again, so the only music is Liliver’s regular tempo on the drums and occasional twinges from my lead guitar.  
  
 _What is it with the world today,  
  
The wicked games that people play,   
  
The wars, the grief, they waste a way,  
  
yeah its sad, _**its sad,** _its sad,_  
  
I’ve never seen Cardan this happy on stage before. His eyes are closed, exposing pale violet eylids with hard-to-see veins mapping them. When the light catches him funny, the glitter on his cheeks glimmers softly. I don’t think I can breathe anymore.  
  
 _So let’s spread the word across the land,  
  
yeah, one by one, baby hand in hand,  
  
_Why does this song talk about hand holding so much?  
  
 _We got a mission of hope,  
  
We’ve got a message of love,  
  
soon everybody everywhere will be  
  
the envy of the gods above_  
  
We run through the chorus twice, ending in a double that screams finality. The audience cheers. I pretend that I didn’t enjoy singing that song with Cardan. I’m also going pretend that my somach didn’t flutter when Cardan turned and winked at me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to submit any song suggestions in the comments


	8. Odessa, TX (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when i tagged this "getting horny on stage", I meant it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song this chapter was suggested by a guest merely known as madeline.   
> (Cruel Summer, by Taylor Swift. I was surprised at A) what a bop this is, and B) how well this fits Jurdan)

Sure, you could say that standing practically naked in front of Jude and making her call down to reception is a _little_ over the top. But I think it was very worthwhile, to see the pink flush rising to her cheeks, staining her skin a pretty colour.   
  
She had then proceeded to avoid me as much as a person could when you were essentially trapped in a one bedroom hotel room with the person, and she made me sleep on the floor. Usually one of us always slept on the floor, or the sofa, or the bathtub, because booking a two bed room would be suspicious to _Juno and the Pixies._  
  
I don’t even know why I’m thinking of Houston. That was at least three days ago. Was it? I don’t know. My brains a little fuzzy. I think I spent too much time in the hotel bar. Van supports me as we stumble up the stairs, laughing every time one of our feet trips on the lip of a stair.  
  
Mine and Jude’s room is the first on the third floor. Van lets me go at the door to my room, already straggling back to his own.  
  
“Knock knock.” I say to the closed door, and then laugh. I’m absolutely hilarious.   
  
The door clicks open, and for a moment I think my hands have moved without my permission. Then, the door opens wide and Jude’s rather frustrated, but also rather pretty, face greets me. I look down at her (it’s hard not to when she’s shorter than me) and laugh.  
  
Her hand shoots out and grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me into the room. I stumble forward, her hand the only thing stopping me from falling flat on my face. The door closes behind me, and Jude’s all up in my face.  
  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? She snaps, one hand still fisted in my shirt.  
  
I can’t answer. Not because I don’t know what I’m doing. I do know that, I’m getting wasted. No, I can’t answer because my mind is fully occupied by the thought of her lips. My eyes have zeroed in on them, I can’t tear them away. Have they always been that tantalising? They’re slightly parted over her teeth, stained red from her lipstick and glittering from lipgloss.  
  
She’s waiting for me to answer, but I’m afraid that if I open my mouth I’ll say something about how truly _delectable_ her lips look.   
  
She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Hello?”  
  
“Uh, well,” I say, eyes unable to move still, “I’m very clearly getting drunk. With Van. He’s also drunk. We were both getting drunk.”  
  
She frowns slightly. I blink. Once. Twice. Three times, to clear my head.   
  
“We have a show tomorrow!”   
  
“So?” I reach my hand up to pluck her fingers from my shirt, “It isn’t tomorrow yet. It’s not like I’m going to be drunk on the night.”  
  
“You’ll be hung-over.”  
  
Boldly, I declare, “I don’t get hangovers.”  
  
She laughs once. It’s a very nice sound. If I were to trap one sound in a bottle forever, I’d choose her laugh. “We’ll see about that tomorrow.”  
  
Her hand drops from my shirt, though not from my feeble attempts of pulling her fingers away. She walks over to the small mini-bar and throws a bottle of water at me. I catch it, barely.   
  
“Drink that,” She says, “And maybe we won’t need to hire a replacement bassist.”  
  
“You can’t hire a replacement bassist. I _am_ the replacement bassist. It’s me. Besides, who would you kiss with your lovely mouth if you fired me?”  
  
She freezes. Maybe I said something wrong. Anyway, I down the bottle in one and strip of my shirt, before slouching onto the bed, and falling asleep straight away.  
  
___  
  
It smells like French toast, which is an incredibly odd thing to wake up to, especially when you’re not used to it. It’s rather disconcerting at first.   
  
I lift my head from the pillow, already groaning. The ghost of a laugh comes from across the room.  
  
“How are you faring this fine morning, Mr I-Don’t-Get-Hangovers?”  
  
I groan even more, reaching for my phone to check the time, only to find it isn’t there. I pat around the bedside table, and then the actual bed, for a minute before giving up and turning over to face Jude. She’s sat by the small table, eating French toast with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. No – she was scrolling through _my_ phone.   
  
I stumble out of the bed gracelessly and snatch it out of her hand. She makes a small noise of protest. Instead of letting her fight to get it back, I say, “I’m perfectly fine. I don’t get hangovers.”  
  
This is true in the way that I don’t _let_ myself get hangovers. Hangovers are gross and annoying, so I just don’t get them. I think I’ve built up an immunity to them, anyway.   
  
She snorts, “Sure. By the way, who’s Nicasia?”  
  
“My ex, technically. We’re still friends.” I tell her, not sure why I’m being truthful.  
  
“That explains the messages.”  
  
“What messages? Why were you reading my messages? What the fuck?”  
  
She shrugs and takes another bite of French toast. She chews slowly, swallows and inclines her head toward the minibar. “You should drink some water.”  
  
I glare at her, not ready to drop the subject, but make my way across the room. I lean over to grab a bottle of water. I bring it to my mouth, but catch her eyes and miss, spilling water down my bare chest.   
  
She laughs as I splutter, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and mopping at the water. It’s cold and annoying, droplets seeping into the jeans that I’m still wearing from yesterday.   
  
She’s still laughing, in that doubled over, wheezing kind of way that I’ve seen her do only twice before. I throw the towel at her. She looks up, eyes snagging on my chest before they land on my eyes.  
  
___  
  
This is the first time a back-in track is being used. We’re covering **Cruel Summer** by Taylor Swift, and its heavy on instruments we have no access to.  
  
Jude starts to sing, her voice as sweet as honey. Her eyes are closed, one hand pressed toward her heart.  
  
 _Fever dream high,  
  
In the quiet of the night,  
  
You know that I caught it,  
  
Bad, bad boy_  
  
She opens her eyes, just to wink in my direction at the last line.  
  
 _Shiny toy with a price,  
  
You know that I bought it_  
  
Her body angles to mine; an invitation to move closer. I have no words in this song, so I keep my eyes fixed upon the neck of my guitar and start to make my way idly across the stage in a way sure to infuriate her as she sings the pre-chorus.  
  
 _Killing me slow, out the window,  
  
I’m always waiting for you to be waiting below,  
  
Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes,  
  
_She accompanies this with a little dice-rolling hand motion. I’m quite close to her now, any stage anxiety vanishing from the familiarity of her presence.   
  
_What doesn’t kill me makes me want you more.  
  
_ She extends a hand to me. With me and Van playing, she has no need to. I move so that her hand brushes against my arm.  
  
 _And it’s new, the shape of your body  
  
_ She runs her hand up and down my arm. Does she want to kill me? I might combust right here, right now.  
  
 _It’s blue, the feeling I’ve got  
  
And it’s ooh, whoa, oh,  
  
It’s a cruel summer.  
  
_The hand not on my arm tightens on the microphone.  
  
 _It’s cool, that’s what I tell ‘em  
  
No rules, in breakable heaven  
  
But ooh, whoa oh  
  
It’s a cruel summer  
  
With you  
  
_There’s a bar of the back-in track.  
  
 _Hang your head low  
  
In the glow of the vending machine  
  
I’m not dying  
  
_She’s still looking at the audience, but occasionally her eyes will flick to me and her hand grips at my bicep.  
  
 _You say that we’ll screw it up in these trying times,  
  
We’re not trying  
  
_Her hand inches up, two of her fingers dipping under the sleeve of my t-shirt. I hate the thrill it sends up my spine.  
  
 _So cut the headlights, summers a knife  
  
I’m always waiting for you to cut to the bone  
  
Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes,_  
  
This time, she rolls her eyes in time with the line, because both hands occupied.  
  
 _And if I bleed, you’ll be the last to know,  
  
_ And suddenly, I think about that line. If Jude was injured, would she call me? Probably not. Not even on account of her being a “suffer in silence” type, just on account of her hating my guts.  
  
She sings through the chorus again, her hand very slowly travelling up my arm and settling on my shoulder. Her touch is almost possessive.  
  
 _I’ drunk in the back of the car,  
  
And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar,  
  
_She unhooks the microphone from its stand.  
  
 _Said I’m fine but it wasn’t true  
  
_ She turns to face me. When she sings, emotion pours from her voice. It shocks me how good she is at this whole fake-relationship thing, and how well she adjusted she is to it.  
  
 _And I snuck through the garden gate,  
  
Every night that summer just to seal my fate  
  
And I screamed for whatever its worth,   
  
_Her hand moves, lightning fast, to cup my neck. She doesn’t squeeze, or constrict my airflow. Her touch is light, but entirely territorial. I’m acutely aware of every face on us, and I’m also immensely glad that the front of my pants is covered by my guitar.  
  
 _“I love you” ain’t that just the worst thing you ever heard?  
  
He looks so pretty like a devil._  
  
I’ve listened to the original song. I know that line is originally “He looks up grinning the a devil.” I don’t know what this change means. I swallow to push down the sudden lump that formed in my throat.  
  
The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by her, and she tracks it with her eyes. She’s singing through the chorus again. Her hand inches up my neck, and cups my jaw.   
  
She’s repeating the last verse once more. Her skin against mine is red-hot, though her hand is cold and sweat-slicked.   
  
_“I love you” ain’t that just the worst thing you ever heard?_  
  
The instrumental fades away. I lean down and press my lips to her forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember to comment any song you want in a chapter :)


	9. Amarillo, TX (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this makes me want to up the rating for this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song was from @soupgirl88 (great name btw) and it is Sugar, We're Goin Down by Fall Out Boy

This is our last show with _Juno and the Pixies,_ and to celebrate, we’re getting McDonalds. If you’ve ever tried to cram nine fully grown adults into a single booth – don’t. I’m practically sat on Cardan’s lap. Scratch that – I _am_ sat on Cardan’s lap. Rose is fully draped across Juno, Hugo _and_ Agnes. Lili and Van sit on the same side as Cardan and I, and Kyle and his eight metre long legs are sat on the windowsill.   
  
I steal one of Cardan’s fries. He tries to stop me, but fails. I shoot him a look, and he looks back at me.   
  
“What are you gonna do about it?” I ask, even when it’s a terrible idea to do so.  
  
He arches one eyebrow, his mouth curling into a cruel smirk. He leans in close, his lips brushing over the base of my neck, and murmurs, “I’ll make you pay for that.”  
  
I don’t like the _feeling_ that settles in my stomach when he says that, a heat pooling in my pelvic bone. I shift uncomfortably in his lip, his bony thighs abruptly biting into my skin. One of his arms snakes around my waist like a tail, tightening there.   
  
His other hand reaches past me to grab his pepsi, slurping it down uncomfortably right next to my ear.  
  
I squirm and try and distance my head from his, “Gross, Cardan.”  
  
He grins. His hand tightens on my waist, “Now, where are you going?”  
  
One of my hands goes to his, my fingers overlapping his own, “I’m trying to get you to stop guzzling your drink down my ear.”  
  
He sets down his drink and holds up his free hand in mock surrender, “I jest, dear Jude.”  
  
He turns his attention to Rose, who just asked him a question. While he talks, the hand on my waist drifts further downwards until his fingers press to the top of my thigh. I choke on a gasp and clutch his hand.  
  
“Cardan.” I hiss into his ear.  
  
The corner of his mouth flicks upwards. Low, only for me, he says, “Do you want me to stop?”  
  
That’s the problem. I don’t want him to stop, and I hate it. It makes me want to die inside, because he’s _Cardan_ and I’m _Jude_ and this wasn’t supposed to happen, but I don’t want him to stop. I take a deep breath, conflicted, and try not to draw attention to myself.   
  
Swallowing thickly, I whisper, “No.”  
  
His fingertips press into the soft flesh of my thigh.   
  
“Jude?” Agnes says, drawing my attention away from Cardan.  
  
“Yes?” I reply, trying to keep my voice level as Cardan smoothes a hand over my thigh.  
  
“How do you manage to play and sing at the same time? Juno wants me to start on some back-in vocals when Rose is on keyboard, but I always mess up my part.”  
  
“Well,” I manage, “I suppose its just a case of knowing both parts. Like, you’ll need to know your guitar part off by heart before you start singing.”  
  
Agnes nods. Cardan’s hand has moved on to play with the hem of my skirt.  
  
Agnes says, “We’ve tried it while practicing some of our older songs, where I know all the chords, and I still kept messing up.”  
  
One of Cardan’s fingers slips through a hole in my tights. I say, “You need to have the same mindset when learning any new thing. You just need to practice.” I have to swallow a gasp as Cardan’s fingers find my inner thigh. “Um, yeah, I think it’s just because you aren’t used to it. How did you get good at your bass lines?”  
  
Reluctantly, Agnes replies, “I practiced.”  
  
“Then that’s what you need to do. Go verse-by-verse. Sing the first verse. Play the first verse. Do both at the same time.” I tell her. Cardan’s thumb strokes at the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, right over one of my stretch marks.  
  
Agnes starts to speak once more, but Kyle interrupts, “Right, gang, should we get going? We need to get to rehearsal early, according to Taryn.  
  
Cardan’s hand pulls away from the hem of my skirt, and pats my hip once. “Kyle’s right. We should leave.”  
  
I wait until Liliver and Van extract themselves from the confinement that is a McDonalds booth before I slide of Cardan’s knee, surreptitiously making sure my skirt covers _everything._  
  
___  
  
“Check, 1, 2,” I call into the microphone. It crackles and I wince.   
  
“Yikes,” Liliver yells from over by the amp. She fiddles with some knobs for a second, before giving me the universal hand sign for OK.   
  
“Check, 1, 2,” I call again. The microphone crackles no more. I whistle a small melody, then sing the lyrics for **VICES.**  
  
“Sounding all good, Jude!” Liliver says when I’ve stopped being noisy. She jogs back to her drumkit and does an appreciative little roll. When we first got asked to release merch, she had considered doing personalised drum sticks. I had then pointed out that she breaks about five (on best) per show, and we dropped the idea.  
  
“You sound great, honey.” Cardan says, pressing a kiss to my hair and ghosting his fingers over the space between my hip and thigh.  
  
I open my mouth to ask what he’s doing. Then I notice Juno, whose standing in the wings and looking at us suspiciously. So, I plaster on a smile and reach up on my very tip-toes to kiss his forehead, and then sweep a lock of his hair out of his eyes. I don’t _necessarily_ hate it.  
  
In fact, I don’t _hate_ all of it. That’s what makes it so fucking infuriating. Because I don’t hate his hand on my waist, and I don’t hate that he just called me _honey,_ and I don’t hate that I _liked_ brushing his hair behind his ears. It makes me want to tear my own hair out, because this man and his stupidly soft hair, and his stupidly pretty face, and his stupidly cruel smirk are making me _feel_ things and go _soft_ and-  
  
And he’s moved on, and he’s halfway through tuning his guitar, and he’s looking straight at me.   
  
“Uh, what?” I say.  
  
“Can you sing a G for me?”  
  
“I can’t go that low.” I glare at him, “but I have a guitar tuner app on my phone, you can use that.”  
  
He nods, so I take out my phone, and quickly unlock it with my fingerprint, swiping past the photo that I’ve set as my background – Cardan half-sprawled on a bed, drunk – and then hand it to him.  
  
___  
  
He’s wearing a crop top. _Holy shit,_ he’s wearing a crop top. I don’t know how I missed it before, but it reveals a strip of his creamy skin from just under his ribcage to his _super_ low rise jeans. It also reveals the tattoo that slips its way up his side, from his hip to the end of his ribcage. Obviously, I’ve seen it before (the guy likes to go around shirtless), but its slightly different when I can see the black scales on stage.  
  
He’s brave, to wear a crop top in Texas of all places. Then again, I’ve always rather thought that _brave_ is a synonym for _stupid_.  
  
He catches me looking and shifts his body to reveal more of the tattoo. I’m pretty sure my brain just short-circuited.   
  
Somewhere in the back of the stage, Liliver finds a microphone to speak into, “I’m sure the show will start soon, if the Queen can stop ogling her boyfriend.”  
  
The crowd laughs.  
  
For comical effect, I make a big show of tearing my eyes away, “What?”  
  
The crowd laughs once more. It feels good.  
  
“We’ll start the show now.” I say, “Hello, Amarillo. I’m the Queen of Shadows, and this is my court. Our first song of the night has been chosen by you. This is **Sugar, We’re Goin Down** by Fall Out Boy.”  
  
There’s a wave of applause. The lights dim and we all start at the same time. My chords are relatively easy.  
  
 _Am I more than you bargained for yet?  
  
I’ve been dying to tell you,  
  
Everything you want to hear  
  
Cause thats just who I am this week  
  
_I keep my eyes trained straight forward, lest they wander to the strip of Cardan’s exposed skin again.  
  
 _Lie in the grass, next to the mausoleum  
  
I’m just a notch in your bedpost   
  
But you’re just a line in a song  
  
_Cardan repeats the last two lines. His voice sounds particularly good today. I have to lower my voice for the next couple lines.  
  
 _Drop a heart, break a name,  
  
We’re always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team,  
  
_Liliver’s drum breat builds up, tenser and tenser, jackhammering like the way my pulse spikes.  
  
 _We’re going down, down in an earlier round,  
  
And sugar we’re going down swinging  
  
I’ll be your number one with a bullet,  
  
_I make a little gun with my hand and pretend to shoot into the crowd.  
  
 _A loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it,  
  
_ The chorus repeats itself, before settling down to the usual tempo for the second verse.  
  
 _Is this more than you bargained for yet?  
  
Oh, don’t mind me I’m watching you two from the closet  
  
Wishing to be the friction in your jeans_  
  
With the way he’s looking at me right now, Cardan might _actually_ wish these things. I don’t look at him, but swallow quickly.  
  
 _Isn’t it messed up, how I’m just dying to be him?  
  
I’m just a notch on your bedpost,   
  
But you’re just a line in a song  
  
_Cardan echoes my words. We spin into the chorus again, Van getting really heavy on the guitar. I risk a glance at Cardan and immediately regret it. The black scales of the snake on his side wink back at me.  
  
Van lets two of his strums ring out, and I repeat the chorus with only him playing. Halfway through, Cardan starts on the chorus as well, so there’s this strange double-timbre of me on one line and him on another.  
  
As soon as the instruments start up again, I sing, with Cardan echoing me,  
  
 _We’re going down, down,  
  
Down, down,  
  
We’re going down, down,  
  
A loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it  
  
And sugar we’re going down swinging  
  
I’ll be your number one with a bullet,  
  
a loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it_.  
  
I continue my chords as Van plays the end of the melody, and we finish with two rung out notes. On a complete whim, for no benefit of the crowd, I surge across the stage and kiss Cardan. He seems to be surprised at first, but his hands settle on my waist.  
  
I pull away and search his eyes for something that isn’t there. Into my microphone, I say, “Our next song is **I Predict A Riot.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have a song, leave it in the comments. If you can, try to make it have traditional band instruments and if you really want, the lyrics can correlate to Jurdan


	10. Denver, CO (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohohoh? they kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO. the song in this chapter is Love Is Dead And We Killed Her by Doll Skin

_Walking the streets with a switchblade and the best pressed suit I own_  
  
This is a new song, but Jude’s voice moves seamlessly between words as if she’s had them memorised for years.  
  
 _Got away with it all, blood boiling to the bone,  
  
Who says my business is yours, when you’re holding the door  
  
_She is _insanely_ hot tonight, wearing jeans with the entire front panels nearly off, showing off fishnet tights over her tattooed thighs; one of _my_ t-shirts, too big on her and knotted above her bellybutton; and the stompiest pair of shoes you’ve ever heard.   
  
_No way you can escape tonight, it’s the last time I’m calling you a whore  
  
_ We move into the pre-chorus, and I have to concentrate on where my fingers go, because its new and finicky. Jude presses her boots to the pedals by her feet, and her voice turns fuzzy.  
  
 _No running back, no changing the past  
  
No fixing whats been shattered  
  
_Her eyes are closed as she sings, and she seems to be pouring all of her emotion and energy into the song.  
  
 _No words exchanged, no time rearrange  
  
No fixing what’s been shattered  
  
_Liliver kicks at the snare in a run-up to the chorus.  
  
 _Did you know I’m a killer?  
  
There’s no stopping me tonight  
  
Underneath the darkness of the night sky  
  
_The people that saw the lyric video are shouting the words to the chorus right back at her.  
  
 _Did you know I’m a killer?  
  
There’s no chance for you tonight  
  
You won’t escape this bitch named karma  
  
Catch up with you, she’ll set it right  
  
_Jude spits the word “bitch” so fiercely it’s a wonder that the front of the crowd don’t get acid burns. Jude’s like _really_ into this song, which makes _me_ really into the song.  
  
 _Now I’ve been sick of this for weeks  
  
got bloodlust in my head  
  
At my wit’s end, it’s payback time  
  
For everything you did  
  
_The coloured lights behind us play havoc on her face, dying her skin pink and tingeing her hair blue. She’s look terrible. She looks _awful_. It’s beautiful. My own personal demon from hell, the only thing she’s missing is the rams horns.   
  
_don’t you dare try to run away  
  
Now look at those who lost their power  
  
With my new attitude, it’s time for revenge honey  
  
_She jumps straight away into the pre-chorus again, her hands white-knuckled on the microphone stand. Her lipstick is smeared down half of her face, unintentionally, but she looks great anyway, in that kind of “she could kick your ass, but she’s hot” kind of way.  
  
When she sings the chorus, I’m actually kind of worried that this is her confession to being a murderer, with the look on her face. Her brown eyes hold no warmth, as sharp as flinted steel.   
  
The bridge is no more than raw-thoated screaming into the microphone, in the vague semblance of words.  
  
 _I see it all in front of me  
  
The demon that lies in between   
  
I’ll settle the score  
  
You’ll be no more_  
  
She holds that last note for ages, while Van’s nimble fingers fly across frets. Then she launches into the chorus for the final time.  
  
Her eyes are still closed, so I admire her while she sings, the way her hair plasters to her forehead, and the thin sheen of sweat glistening in the light. Her feet are set apart in an angry pose. Her mouth is twisted in an ugly sneer that makes her just that much prettier and I _hate_ how attracted I am to her.   
  
The song finishes and she looks at me. She probably felt my eyes on her the entire song. There’s something incredibly _feeling_ about her eyes, but whatever emotion is showing in her usually unemotional eyes, I don’t know what it is.  
  
___  
  
“Are you okay?” I say when Lili and Van have gone to their separate rooms, and it’s just me and Jude.  
  
I can’t believe I’m actually asking about her welfare, _to her face._  
  
She arches one eyebrow. “What?”  
  
“I asked if you were okay. You deaf or-” I start, but she cuts me off.  
  
“Is the great Cardan Greenbriar asking after _me?”  
  
_ “Shut up,” I snap, “Excuse me for caring about my fake fucking girlfriend.”  
  
If she was a pile full of tinder, I’ve just dumped gasoline all over her and struck a match.  
  
“Whatever you’re trying to get me to say, you can quit because I’m not telling you a fucking thing.”  
  
“I don’t care?” The volume level of my voice is slowly rising, “Then, pray tell, why the fuck am I asking? It’s not my goddamn fault that I apparently care about you now. It’s also not my goddamn fault that you’re not fucking telling me anything.”  
  
She looks at me and her fists ball at her sides. For a moment, I think she’s going to take a swing at me. I mean, it’s happened before. But then she unfurls her fists and sighs.   
  
Pinching her thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose, she sighs, “Do you actually want to know?”  
  
“Hit me. Metaphorically, not literally.”   
  
She sits down on the bed and puts her head in her hands. When she speaks, her voice is slightly muffled “Locke called me. Like, multiple times.”  
  
I sit down next to her. “The one you beat the shit out of?”  
  
I don’t need to ask, I know who she’s talking about.  
  
A small smile curls the edge of her lips, “The very same.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And,” She breathes out heavily, “He’s asking me to get back together.”  
  
I ignore the pang in the middle of my chest when she says that, and let her continue.  
  
“And I told him, I _told him_ that I have a boyfriend, but he said he ‘knew that I still loved him’ as if I _ever_ loved him. I mean, I certainly don’t love him after he cheated on me with my _sister_ and it’s like – I told you I don’t want to hear from you ever again, so why do you think you’re important enough to be a part of my life?”  
  
Hesitantly, I put a hand on her back. She tenses, but then relaxes against the touch. My thumb rubs slow circles.  
  
“And I just – I just,” she takes her hands from her face and gestures wildly with them.  
  
“I know.” I say, and she lets her hands fall down again. “I don’t know what to say to him.”  
  
Neither do I. I don’t know how to tell her I used to be friends with her scummy ex-boyfriend. I don’t know what to say to make her feel better. But I don’t have to, because she’s lifted her face to mine, and her lips are soft and hesitant.  
  
I kiss back automatically, but put my hands on her shoulders and lightly press against them. She falls away easy.  
  
“Fuck.” She says, and presses a hand on her mouth, “Shit, I’m so sorry Cardan.”  
  
I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and say, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”  
  
She blinks, “That’s fair. I’m sorry.”  
  
We sit in silence. I’ve taken my hand off her back. Awkwardness hangs heavy in the air.  
  
Before I can bite back the words, I say, “I’m not opposed to kissing you, I just don’t want you to kiss me just because you’re upset about your ex.”  
  
She looks up at me with wide eyes, and I feel heat rising to my cheeks.  
  
“You wouldn’t be _opposed_ to it?” She asks, “Gee, I’m so flattered.”  
  
If possible, I blush more. At least I’m not the only one, her cheekbones are stained pink.  
  
“If you keep making fun of me, I won’t kiss you at all.” I say primly, then wonder why I’m even this conversation with her.  
  
I start to stand up, my mouth opening for an apology, but she grabs my sleeve and pulls me roughly down onto the bed.  
  
“I want to kiss you.” She says, her hot breath blowing against my neck.  
  
“So do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to brag about what I got for christmas now. feel free to skip :)
> 
> \- Jessica Jones t-shirt because I love her  
> \- the dreamer and the magician candles  
> \- "sharpen your blade and harden your heart" quote necklace  
> -the ghost enamel pin  
> -BOOKS  
>  \- the kane chronicles  
>  \- how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories  
>  \- the diviners  
>  -call down the hawk  
> \- supernatural devil's trap earrings  
> -other things i can't be arsed to detail


	11. Cheyenne, WY (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuck off locke <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song for this chapter is Hailey by WRENN because i wouldn't have been able to use it in any other chapter

I don’t know why I told Cardan everything. I don’t know why I kissed him. We haven’t talked about it, or how (for the first time) we slept in the same bed. Obviously nothing else happened, but it was nice to not have to sleep on the floor.   
  
I can’t stop thinking about how his lips felt against mine.  
  
Someone is snapping in front of my face. I blink, and make out Liliver’s dark hand. “Huh?”  
  
“Earth to Jude?” she says, pulling her hand away, “Good, your back with us.”  
  
She shoves another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. Van cackles when she puts too much and has to cover her mouth to avoid splutters chocolate ice cream all over us.  
  
I smile half-heartedly and stab into my own vat of ice cream. The mint chocolate chip doesn’t do much to sooth my jumped up nerves. It’s unrealistic, but I keep expecting Locke to pop up and taunt me. We never had much of a good relationship, if you really wanted to understate it.   
  
Cardan’s eyes are on me. I can feel them, but I don’t look up. I don’t want the cruel twist of his mouth right now, nor do I want the pity I do not think I will see.   
  
Liliver strokes one hand up my arm. I jerk away.  
  
“Your hand is freezing.” I complain, going to put my jacket on. Bu it’s got a not-very-good chocolate stain on it, and it’s in one of my suitcases.   
  
Something buts against my arm. Cardan’s offering me his hoodie. I take it slowly, and pull it over my head, letting the soft fabric scrape against my skin, letting the smell of him envelop my senses.   
  
I pull my hair out the head hole of the hoodie and let it fall around my face, once again stabbing at the practically solid ice cream, trying to carve at it with the spoon.  
  
“Calm down Jude,” Van jokes, “the ice cream isn’t Locke’s head.”  
  
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I say, and assault my ice cream once more.  
  
My phone buzzes and my hand tightens around the spoon. Lili reaches into my back pocket and extracts the phone. She only glances at the screen vaguely before making a noise of disgust and powering it off entirely. She throws my now completely black phone onto the nearby sofa.  
  
“Music?” Cardan asks. I nod and he fishes his own phone out of his pocket. “Ok gang, we’ve got an option of ‘pov: you’re falling in love with your enemy’ or ‘committing arson in the name of feminism’ or, my personal favourite ‘decomposing’”  
  
I chew over my options. They all like very solid options. I, apparently, am currently doing the first one, and the other two both sound like viable options for what I want to do right now. I highly doubt the city of Cheyenne would like me setting things on fire, and me decomposing would really mess up the tour schedule.  
  
So, I settle for shovelling ice cream into my mouth, and mumbling through it, “First one sounds good.”  
  
I don’t even care what songs are on it. Cardan presses play, turns the volume up, and sets it on the nightstand. The first song that plays is **Hayloft** by Mother Mother. I’ve always thought that we should cover this at some point.  
  
As I sit there, lyrics start forming in my mind. Lyrics about Taryn and Locke, lyrics about my not-so-good relationship with them both, lyrics about how I felt when I found them out. Obviously if I were to make this into an actual song, I’d have to replace Taryn’s name with something else, and it would have to fit into the song.  
  
I sigh, and then declare, “Someone get me a notepad. I’m writing a breakup song.”  
  
___  
  
The stage lights dim. I drag over a stool that was placed near the side of the stage. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Van turning down his amp and Liliver stepping away from the drums.   
  
I sit on the stool and adjust my microphone stand to be at the right level. Cardan shoots me a thumbs up from where he’s turning his own amp down.   
  
The entire stadium is quiet, unsure.   
  
I take a deep breath and say, “This is a song I wrote for my ex. Stop texting me you fucking weirdo, I already have a boyfriend.”  
  
A few people laugh nervously.   
  
I strike my guitar strings at the same time as the back in track is played.   
  
_Same day, same night  
  
Always fuelling our fights  
  
Like a fire in an empty house_  
  
I try and relax my vocals, making them slow and upset, dropping half the letters.  
  
 _Gone off somewhere  
  
All I know is you’re not here  
  
You’d think I’d have learned by now  
  
_I reach my toe out to press my distortion pedal. I stop the single strum chords I’ve been doing and let the back in track take over almost entirely as I move into the pre-chorus.  
  
 _You say she’s just a friend, well ok  
  
Why is she showing up midnight on our birthday?  
  
Why’s she crying in your arms, looking a mess?  
  
And you’re looking at me like you gotta confess  
  
Not the first time you held her  
  
Mascara stains dripping on your t-shirt  
  
Now I’m packing a bag but I’ve gotta ask  
  
_I move into the chorus with no change, ready to fuel all my pent-up anger and and remaining resentment into the next few lyrics.  
  
 _Out of everyone, everyone else  
  
Why’d it have to be Hailey?  
  
Why’d it have to be Hailey?  
  
Out of everyone, everyone else  
  
Out of everyone else  
  
Why’d it have to be Hailey?  
  
Why’d it have to be Hailey?  
  
Out of everyone, everyone else  
  
Out of everyone, everyone else  
  
_I re-start my chords for the second verse, and try to regain control over my emotions and my face. I don’t want to give that bastard anymore reasons to keep texting and harassing me.  
  
 _You say that I’ve got it all wrong, but I think I know you better than myself  
  
Don’t you get tired of always playing the victim and running your mouth?  
  
_I spit the last line, hoping it’ll burn Taryn, burn Locke, burn anyone who knew and didn’t care.  
  
I jump into the pre-chorus, closing my eyes against the stadium lights, still oh so bright. I channel every emotion into every lyric, silently cursing Taryn for being such a cruel hearted bitch, for wanting to fit in so badly that she took up that fucking losers challenge of keeping their affair secret from me. He did it just to see if she could. He was always like that.  
  
But he’d gotten bored of her. He always did.  
  
I pause for a bar, then re-do the chorus with longer runs.  
  
An arm slips around my waist. A hand touches my shoulder. Someone presses their head to mine, long hair tickling my skin.  
  
The back in track stops two lines before the end, so it’s just my voice reverberating around the stadium.   
  
My voice breaks on the last lines.  
  
The spotlight on me dims entirely, leaving me in swaddled in darkness, my friend’s arms and the noise of the crowd. I tilt my face up to find Cardan’s and press my lips softly to his.  
  
Of course, because my luck is amazing, the lights decide to flare back on at that moment, and I smile into his mouth as the crowd roars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i go shopping yesterday, only to buy more books? absolutely.   
> -the umbrella academy graphic novel (volume one: apocalypse suit)  
> -heir of fire by Sarah J Maas  
> -a darker shade of magic by V.E Schwab  
> -the trialls of apollo (book one: the lost oracle  
> -crooked kingdom by leigh bardugo  
> -the raven king by nora sakavic  
> -renegades by marissa meyer
> 
> i have acquired 13 books this month. I have problems


	12. Helena, MT (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> can you tell I recently re-read the entire fota series (including htkoelths)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIsten to Internet Gaming by WRENN before reading this chapter pretty please :)

“Jude.” I say. I need her to know. I’m not lying to her, but I am keeping the truth.  
  
“Hmmm?” She looks up from her phone.  
  
I swallow down my nerves. She must see it in my eyes, because she leans forward, eyebrows pinching together with worry.  
  
“I knew Locke. We were – we were friends when he was, uh, cheating on you.” I say quickly, “I didn’t know he was. I stopped talking to him as soon as it all came out.”  
  
Jude blinks. Once. Twice. “You were friends? I never met you.”  
  
“At the time I didn’t care for Locke’s girlfriends. He got bored easily, and he was constantly messing people around.” I say.  
  
I can’t discern her facial expression. I’d say its veiled fury, but she doesn’t look angry enough. It’s veiled something. I’m slightly scared she’s going to be mad at me, even if I didn’t know. Don’t tell her, but I moved all the sharp objects out of the room, in fear of my own life.  
  
“He’s a storyteller.” She says.  
  
“He is.” I agree.  
  
My heart is pounding in my chest, partly from nerves and partly from the way she’s looking at me, like she’s analysing my every movement. Like she’s a predator, and I’m her prey.  
  
“You didn’t know about the Taryn thing?”  
  
I shake my head.  
  
“Ok.”  
  
“That’s it?” I shake my head, “I-”  
  
“I don’t care.” Jude says calmly. “I don’t want to hear about Locke anymore. You did what you could. You didn’t know, and you said don’t have contact with him anymore. I’ve nothing to be righteously mad about.”  
  
I blink rapidly, trying to dispel the unwanted tears from my eyes. I’d grown up full off people – well, one person - who used any and every misdoing as a way to punish and torment me.  
  
My throats thick, all because of something Jude’s said. What’s that quote – “you have bewitched me body and soul”? Yeah, that sounds about right. She’s come and made me feel things for her, all while despising me, but kissing when the cameras aren’t rolling and looking at me like that, and looking like that and -   
  
Who gave her the right to any of this? How does she have the audacity?  
  
She’s getting to her feet. She’s standing in front of me, her pretty hands brushing against my cheek, wet with tears I let spill over. Her face is a mix of confusion and pity, gentile but worried.   
  
She brushes the tears off where they’ve collected on my chin, and whispers, “Why’re you crying?”  
  
I take her hand from my face and scrub the back of my other hand across my own cheeks, “It’s nothings. It’s stupid. I’m fine.”  
  
The hand I took away from my face reaches up to gently cup my cheek. Softly, she says, “It isn’t, though, is it?”  
  
I let my eyes fall close and lean against her hand. She breathes in a small gasp, as if startled by this vulnerability I’m showing her. “I’ve just – well, I’ve not heard anyone say anything like that for a while.”  
  
I smile on instinct, and feel the edge of my mouth push into her hand. Her thumb reaches to smooth it down.   
  
“What do you mean?” She asks.  
  
“You don’t want to hear the sob story.”  
  
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.” She tells me, something eerily close to my own words the other day.  
  
“Are you sure.” I ask, and she nods. “Well, my _loving_ older brother thought it would be...humiliating and fitting to have the servants take a belt to my back anytime I acted out of line.”  
  
Her gasp is barely audible.   
  
“Cardan.” She whispers.  
  
“Don’t think of me any differently.” I tell her, whispering also. “I deserved it every time. I invited trouble.”  
  
Her hand tightens on my face. Not in a painful way, I can just feel her every muscle tense. If I had my eyes open, I would see the hard glint of her eyes when she’s angered. Did I do something to upset her? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything-  
  
“Don’t say that, Cardan.” Her voice is harder than her eyes or her hand. “No-one deserves being beat, especially you. You may be a bastard to everyone, but I _know_ you. You’re _you_.”  
  
I raise one eyebrow, “Really? You don’t say.”  
  
She swats my arm with her free hand, “I’m trying to be sweet and supportive.”  
  
“I don’t like you because you’re sweet.”   
  
I’m truthful, when I say it. I’ve never had a penance for _nice_ women. I’m a boy with a heart on fire, and she’s a girl with eyes of stone. I feel so much towards her and I hate it – I hate the flutter in my stomach when she kisses me on my stage, I hate the blush that rises to my cheeks under her touch, and most of all, I hate the way I know I look at her, with eyes too vulnerable and full of my feelings.  
  
“Kiss me,” I request, drunk on my own emotion, “Kiss me until I am sick of it.”  
  
She obliges.  
  
___  
  
I only remember the slick of our mouths moving together in synchronisation, later that day while on stage.   
  
Jude looks so exultant on stage with the crows bellowing her lyrics back to her, and the music echoing off every wall, and the lights bouncing of her skin, and the sweat sticking her hair to her forehead.  
  
“Ok fuckers,” She yells into the microphone, causing people to scream and yell, “Let’s have a song that’s a blast from the past, yeah?”  
  
People scream the songs they want her to sing. Jude puts both hands up in mock surrender and laughs. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we’ve already got it picked out. Who’s ready for **Internet Gaming**?”  
  
People yell their affirmations. **Internet Gaming** is from the band’s first album, Exploding the Palace of Versailles, when it was just Jude and Liliver. Of course, this means that Van and I don’t have parts. I turn my amp down to 0 and sit cross-legged on the floor, watching Jude fiddle with her pedals and the settings on her own amp for a second until her electric sounds acoustic.   
  
_The second life’s betraying me,  
  
Stuck in two-tone velocity,  
  
Come play with me,  
  
Burn all your bridges down tonight,  
  
I see you on the other side,  
  
You look alright  
  
_She moves into the pre-chorus, her voice a low whine, the way it used to be in her earlier albums. Her entire body is angled towards mine.  
  
 _And I said,  
  
Put me in a K hole, or eat me alive,  
  
Everybody wants me to go outside,  
  
Everybody wants me to go outside,  
  
Everybody wants me,  
  
_The chorus is slightly higher and _longing_ , and her voice is _everything_ to me. I think I might be able to live off just the sound of her beautiful voice.  
  
 _Hey you, forget emotions,  
  
Trust me I’m your new devotion,  
  
Drown me in your evolution,_  
  
She looks directly at me, pleading with her eyes when she sings the next line.  
  
 _Kiss me, kiss me,  
  
_ She repeats the last four lines, more frantic until calming down for the second verse, her voice once again becoming low and sultry.  
  
 _New crucifixions on TV,  
  
Stare at your stained glass LED,  
  
Sleepless with me,  
  
_All the letters in the verses seem to be elongated to double their length. She repeats the pre-chorus easily. The longing note returns in the chorus, when she once again pleads with her eyes.  
  
I’m on my feet before I know it, walking across the stage as she repeats the chorus.   
  
_Kiss me, kiss me,  
  
Kiss me, kiss me,  
  
_Her voice drops lower to repeat the pre-chorus once more.  
  
 _Put me in a K hole or eat me alive,  
  
Everybody wants me to go outside  
  
Everybody wants me to go outside  
  
Everybody wants me  
  
_She repeats once more, the words getting more frantic as she continues until the chorus is slurring in once more, which is the same as the outro.  
  
She sings slower in the outro, more like the verses but with a hint of manic energy. My bass lies abandoned on my part of the stage as I make my way to her.  
  
 _Hey you forget emotion,  
  
trust me I’m your new devotion,  
  
Drown me in your evolution,  
  
Kiss me, kiss me,  
  
kiss me, kiss me,  
  
kiss me, kiss me_  
  
She strums until the guitar chords are no more, completely faded into the background. Then, to my shock, she slips her guitar over her back and half-runs toward me, flinging her arms around my neck and smashing our lips together to the roar of the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave your suggestions in the comments :)


	13. Salem, OR (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok i don't think this counts as slowburn anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a spotify playlist for this fanfic. you can find it if you search up a.slingo (my spotify username) it should be the first playlist on the user profile, since i just made it

“You should be careful, Jude.” Cardan says. I can feel his voice reverberating from where my head rests on his chest. “I hear they burn witches in this town.”  
  
“Oh fuck off.” I say light-heartedly, and punch his arm gently. “I am but a mere mortal.”  
  
“That may be, but that doesn’t stop you cursing me out like a witch would.”  
  
I pinch the exposed skin of his arm. “I do not.”  
  
“Don’t you though?”  
  
I don’t respond. I let silence settle over our empty hotel room. Well, empty except for us, with the beat of our hearts together and our soft breathing.   
  
Out of nowhere, he asks, “What are we?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, Jude, We’re sat here practically naked, and you’re lying on my chest.” He says, as though it’s obvious, “But I wouldn’t call you my girlfriend. In private that is.”  
  
I mill this over for a minute. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what I’d call us. I mean, he has a point. He’s lying bare-chested underneath me, baring his thin scars with no trouble. My leg is hooked over both his thighs, and his fingers are pressed into my hip. We’re lying in the most intimate position I’ve been in in years, but I’ve never thought about my actual relationship with him.   
  
“I think,” I say slowly, deliberately, “That, since I call you my boyfriend in public, I shall call you my boyfriend in private.”  
  
He nods twice. “Then I shall call you my girlfriend then.”  
  
He takes my hand, the one resting on his arm, and kisses the back of it. Does he use lipbalm? There’s my way he’s lips are that soft naturally.  
  
I laugh at the formality of it all, the hand kissing, the “shalls”. He drags his lips over my wrist and down my arms, pressing them close into the crook of my elbow. He draws me closer, his lips travelling up my bicep.  
  
“You’re so strong,” he mutters against my skin, “I love a girl who could crush my head between her thighs.”  
  
I laugh, and he seems to revel in the sound. “Don’t you just wish?”  
  
“Oh, God yes.” He says lowly, his mouth moving to wet the hem of my short sleeve t-shirt.   
  
With something akin to a half gasp, half moan, I move with clumsy fingers to the bottom of my shirt, trying to take it off. He moves his mouth away, allowing me to pull my shirt off and fling it to the floor. I use my already hooked leg to swing myself up so I’m straddling his hips.  
  
His hands trace my collar bone. If I had to give it a word, I’d assign _reverent_ , to the way his hands ghost over my skin. I take in a shuddering breath, letting his fingers create goosebumps all over my body.  
  
He traces the outline of my breasts and I choke on a moan. I bite down on the knuckle on my finger, knowing that Liliver and Van are in the rooms opposite and beside ours, respectively, and they both still think that we hate each other. I keep resisting the urge to rock my hips into his.  
  
“I could get used to this.” He breathes.  
  
“To what?”  
  
“The sight of you on top of me.”  
  
I growl and splay my hands on his chest.  
  
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I breathe.  
  
Someone knocks on the door, and Liliver’s voice yells, “Are you two coming down for breakfast?”  
  
“Shit.” I whisper to Cardan, and then I yell back to Lili, “I’ll be down in a minute. I need to wake Cardan up!”  
  
“Okay! I’ll wait out here with Van.”  
  
___  
  
“I’m the Queen of Shadows, and welcome to my court.”  
  
I grin at their yells.  
  
“Now, this is a special show. Because this is our 30th show, halfway through the tour, we’re going to be switching up the set list entirely. I’m sorry to anyone who liked the original, but here we go. Tonight, we start with the song that got us mainstream enough to be playing here tonight. So, first up we have **How A Heart Unbreaks**!”  
  
I let them shout until their voices go hoarse, before starting to strum my chords. This is one of my favourite songs. It reminds me, truly, of the fact that no matter what people do to me, I’ll always bring myself back up. No matter how cruel they are, I can always be worse.  
  
 _Step one, take his pictures off the wall  
  
Bring myself up after the fall  
  
The fall, I’ll be better off after all  
  
When the pains 100 proof  
  
There are ways to change the mood  
  
It’s good, getting it like it should  
  
_I unhook the microphone from it stands and twirl the cord around my hands. I can’t stand still during this performance. It’s, like, physically impossible. I might be bragging, since it’s my song, but the chorus is just so fun to dance around stage to.  
  
 _Mr whats his name  
  
Fooler all the same  
  
Mr whats his name  
  
I’m gonna smile when it hurts  
  
_I half-run toward Liliver, a spotlight following behind me.  
  
 _Going out tonight with all of my girls  
  
_ With the light on her, Lili winks but her hands are steady and she doesn’t fumble with the drum beat. She’s truly excellent at drumming. It’s almost like she gets paid for it – oh wait, she does, because she’s just that amazing.  
  
 _Party till I can’t see straight  
  
This is how a heart unbreaks  
  
_Those particular lines talk about the time I got drunk and kissed multiple women. In one night. My bi awaking, which was pretty fun. I think I kissed Lili at one point, but in a friend way. You know how it is.  
  
 _Find someone new  
  
_ I dance over to Cardan, pressing my back into his so my entire figure is hidden behind his. His head turns to the side so he can see me out of the corner of his eye.  
  
 _Somebody to love me the way you love you  
  
Can’t you tell I’ll be okay  
  
This is how a heart-art unbreaks  
  
_There’s barely any transition between the chorus and second verse. Sure, there’s a bar where everything quiets down, but otherwise its basically the same.   
  
_I can’t believe it got this far  
  
It’s like the wheels came off of a car_  
  
I step out from behind Cardan’s back, trailing my hand over his shoulders, and coiling one of his curls around my finger. I lean my head on his arm, making sure he’s still got room to move his left hand over the frets of his bass.  
  
 _Bizarre, I let you into my heart  
  
I’ve been broken in the past   
  
But the feeling doesn’t last  
  
Collapse, I’ve always survived the crash  
  
_I run through the chorus again. I waltz away from Cardan and back to my stand, hooking the mike back into its stand and allowing my fingers to fall back into the chord pattern as easily as if it were etched into my mind.  
  
The bridge is the only truly slow part of the song. Cardan and Van are playing palm muted strings.  
  
 _Oh the devil was in your eyes  
  
But heaven was in your kiss  
  
And these are the things I’ll miss_  
  
I hold the note until it turns raw-throated, allowing Van his time in the spotlight. His solo is difficult. He tried to teach me it once but I never could grasp it. His fingers are far more talented than mine when it comes to actual melodies. My brain is occupied by other things, whereas he can focus solely on _just_ the melody.  
  
I run through the chorus one last time, more sadly then the other times.  
  
 _Smile when it hurts  
  
Tonight with all of my girls  
  
Party till I can’t see straight  
  
This is how a heart unbreaks  
  
Find someone new  
  
Somebody to love me the way  
  
You love you  
  
Can’t you tell I’ll be OK  
  
This is how a heart unbreaks_  
  
The instruments go quiet. People cheer and chant the lyrics back at me. It is, perhaps, the best high. Standing here, watching people look so happy just because I’m standing on a stupid stage. I grin so wide I feel like my face is going to split in two.  
  
“How’d you like that one, Salem? I’ll let y’all decide the next one, yell now if you want... **Juicebox Baby**.” I pause, and listen to their hollering. “And now yell if you’d prefer... **Blood Like Lemonade.** ” I listen to the shouts once more.  
  
“Ok, **Blood Like Lemonade** it is.”


	14. Los Angeles, CA (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuck you balekin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for this chapter is DESTROYA by My Chemical Romance. 
> 
> the playlist for this fanfic can be found by searching for a.slingo (my username) on spotify.

“Todays final song is being played by my sexy, sexy boyfriend. Take it away, babe.”  
  
I try not to flush at the pet name. I do manage to keep my face under control, sending only a smirk her way.  
  
“I have had _many_ a request to cover this song. Because I’m so popular. People _love_ me.” Some people scream in agreement, and I grin, “You asked for it, and I’m giving it. Here’s my cover of **DESTROYA** by My Chemical Romance.”  
  
People scream as Liliver starts the drum beat, soon to be joined byJude’s rough chords and the truly excellent melodic line by Van.  
  
 _Check, check  
  
Check, check  
  
Check, check, check, check, check  
  
Check, che...  
  
_Jude whistles sharply into her microphone. This isn’t a shared performance, but I’m glad for her clear notes to help stabilise me.  
  
 _Woah!  
  
Don’t believe what they say,   
  
We’re dead flies in the summertime  
  
They leave us all behind  
  
With duct tape scars on my honey  
  
_The music from the rest of the band is so loud in my ears that I can barely hear myself think, let alone sing. That, coupled with the noise of the crowd echoing my words back to me, means I can’t tell if I’m in the right key or not. I have faith that Jude would alert me if I was. Not a lot of faith though, because I think she’d rather like to see me humiliated.  
  
 _They don’t like who you are  
  
You won’t like where we’ll go  
  
Brother protect me now,  
  
With blood they wash in the money  
_  
I have to swallow a laugh rising in my chest. My brother certainly never protected me, no matter what he tried to tell me.  
  
 _You don’t believe in God,  
  
I don’t believe in luck,  
  
They don’t believe in us  
  
But I believe we’re the enemy_  
  
I repeat the last four lines again, with slightly more vigour. My stomach knots at the prospect of the next part because Jude’s _right there_. She knows the song better than I do, which means she knows better than I do what comes next.  
  
The guitars fade out, leaving only the drums. I lean even further toward the microphone, using my now free hands to cup it. I moan gently into it, getting people screaming their lungs out. It’s not real moaning, more like a repetition of “uh”, but the intent is all the same.  
  
The guitar comes back in for the second verse.  
  
 _I’m sick down from the bones to the other side  
  
Red-mob, where insects hide,  
  
King rat on the streets of another life  
  
They laugh we don’t think it’s funny,  
  
_I don’t know what pedal Jude pressed but her guitar chords go low and grainy and fuzzy, more rough than they were before, which is a feat in of itself, honestly.  
  
 _If what you are,  
  
Is just what you own  
  
What have you become,  
  
When they take from you,  
  
Almost everything?  
  
_I repeat the chorus again, and it hits me how genuinely good these lyrics are. They have a meaning at face value, and then a deeper meaning underneath that, and then another meaning again.   
  
_Destroya, destroya, destroya  
  
Destroya, destroya, destroya, destroya  
  
Against the sun we’re the enemy  
  
Destroya, destroya, destroya, destroya_  
  
This time, when I get to the lines that are purely fake moans, Jude joins in, her higher moans contrasting my own and setting my skin on fire. Every time a noise drags out the back of her throat, electricity zings up and down my nervous system. Maybe this is my own personal hell, standing here listening to her moan and not being able to do anything about it.  
  
I repeat the chorus again, with Jude faintly in the back ground singing the extra parts.  
  
 _I don’t believe in God ( **You don’t believe in God)  
  
** I don’t believe in luck **(I don’t believe in luck)**  
  
I don’t believe in you **(They don’t believe in us)**  
  
But I believe we’re the enemy **(but I believe we’re the enemy)  
  
**_ The four lines repeat themselves. The next lines are me and Jude moaning at different times, creating layers. I wonder idly about what Gerard Way thought when he wrote this song. It was probably pure fan service I say that as if this performance is not.  
  
I repeat the chorus once more, this time without Jude’s interjections.   
  
_Destroya, destroya, destroya,  
  
Destroya, destroya, destroya, destroya  
  
_The last word ends with a mini scream that tears up my throat. _  
  
Against the sun we’re the enemy,  
  
Destroya, destroya, we’re all waiting for ya  
  
Destroya destroya  
  
Against the sun we’re the enemy  
  
_Jude carries on chanting _destroya_ in the background as I move onto the last few lines.  
  
 _So show me what you got, you children of the gun  
  
Don’t hide and we don’t run  
  
Against the sun we’re the enemy  
  
So show me what you got  
  
Against the sun we’re the enemy  
  
_Me and Jude cut off together, leaving only Liliver’s drum beat and the slowly waning guitar melody that fades into nothing under the crowds screams.  
  
My throat feels raw and tight as I stare out at the pulsating mass of bodies that is the mosh pit, the edges of my mouth curling into a smile. I always forget that people are actually there, watching us until the show is done. What a stupid time for stage fright to kick in.  
  
“We’ve been the Court of Shadows.” Jude says into her microphone, drawing all attention back to her with six words. As it should be. “Thank you, and goodnight LA!”  
  
___  
  
“You know, I’m from California.” I mention, too casual for it to _be_ casual.  
  
Jude raised one eyebrow but didn’t look up from the true crime novel she was reading, “Oh really? What part of California are you from.”  
  
“Incidentally,” I say, “LA.”  
  
“And why didn’t we hear about this earlier?”  
  
“The _only_ reason I’m mentioning it now is because I have to go back to my brothers house for my birthday.”  
  
Jude looked up then, tilting her head to one side, “The shitty brother?”  
  
Drily, I say, “The very same.”  
  
“And why weren’t we alerted that it was your birthday?” Jude asks.  
  
“I didn’t want to draw attention to it.” I say.   
  
“Am I invited?” She asks.  
  
This startles me slightly. I didn’t think she’d want to come. “Do you _want_ to be invited?”  
  
When I look into her eyes, I find mischief there. “Of course. I’m sure your brother will just _love_ me. And, obviously, if I’m coming Lili and Van are too.”  
  
“You’re a package deal.” I agree, seeing where she’s going with this, “And I have to warn you. Balekin _hates_ it when people make money by non-conventional measures. He also absolutely _despises_ people who are really noisy and aren’t proper.”  
  
“Thanks for telling me.” She says pleasantly, reaching for a pad of paper and scrawling it down, “I’d hate for him to not like me.”  
  
“It would be a shame wouldn’t it.” I say with a grin.  
  
___  
  
Jude knocks on the door, her fist pounding that hard the hinges wobble. I don’t repress the grin that comes to my lips. It’s the kind of smile that always infuriated Balekin.  
  
A shadow comes to the frosted window of the door, and the sound of a key rattling can be heard. Before the door can open, Jude whispers in my ear, “Happy Birthday.” And then kisses me passionately.  
  
I hear the door open but Jude doesn’t break away. Balekin clears his throat, and I pull away with a mask of surprise. “Terribly sorry. I didn’t notice you.”  
  
Behind me, Liliver masks her laughter with a cough.  
  
Balekin opens the door to allow us in with a tight-lipped smile. “Come in, Cardan. I didn’t know you were bringing friends.”  
  
“It’s my birthday, is it not?” I say. I haven’t stopped grinning, “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve seen, but this is my girlfriend, Jude, and my band mates Liliver and Van.”  
  
Jude waves condescendingly. Liliver holds out a hand for a handshake. Balekin shakes her hand, and I see the stress lines on Liliver’s arms from where she’s straining to crush his fingers. Van says nothing, just looks at my brother with cold, knowing eyes.  
  
“Come in then.” Balekin says, gesturing.   
  
I take the first step forward. Balekin’s eyes are cruel. I hear Jude’s heeled boots click on the pavement, then her hand smacks my ass. I glare at her and she smirks, “Hurry up, babe. We’ve got another show tonight.  
  
Liliver doesn’t bother masking her laugh this time.  
  
The rest of the band follow behind my brother as he leads us into the bowels of the house, to the dining room.  
  
“Margret!” Balekin calls, naming our servant. It’s a miracle that she still around, “We have three extra guests!”  
  
A hurried looking woman – at least triple my age – with grey hair tied into a messy bun and a maid outfit bustles out the kitchen with three extra plates and a handful of cutlery. She doesn’t look at us. She leaves as soon as the new table settings are put in places.  
  
Balekin sits down and gestures for us to copy. As I watch him sit I notice the heavy leather belt around his waist. Jude’s hand slips into mine. We all sit down. Immediately, Liliver starts drumming her fingers on the mahogany table.   
  
Balekin stiffens, his welcoming smile becoming fixed to his face.  
  
“We having dinner?” Jude asks, “I’m starved. I haven’t eaten anything since the show last night.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. We always have dinner, don’t we Balekin.” I say dangerously. We do have dinner, but he also then orders me to discard my shirt and beats me until my back is more wound than healthy skin. He knows I’m not referring to the annual chicken we eat.  
  
“We do.” He says with equal danger.   
  
Jude seems to hear the threat in Balekin’s words, because she says conversationally, “Yeah, we’ve heard all about your _dinners.”_  
  
The day before, Jude had asked my permission to tell Liliver and Van about _why_ exactly we were meeting my brother. They had both been to full of rage that they pinky swore to do their absolute worse at dinner. I told them everything my brother hates.  
  
“So,” says Van, changing the subject, smoothly, “how are your other siblings, Balekin?”  
  
The skin around my brothers eyes tightens. I cough into my fist to hide my delight at his uncomfort.   
  
“Specifically Dain.” Liliver tacks on. “We’ve heard a lot about Dain.”  
  
Oh, this was going to be the best family dinner I’ve had in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to, you can comment a song and I'll try (TRY) and work it into the story


	15. (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tooth-rotting fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song is A Little Wicked by Valerie Broussard, and it was suggested by @hmmmaybelater :)
> 
> all the songs from this fic are on my spotify (a.slingo) on a playlist called Court of Shadows

I’ve not been on a plane in a while. I’ve never been in first class. But, here I am, in first class, sipping champagne out of a water glass and watching Never Been Kissed idly on the small TV set into the back of Liliver’s chair. The sky outside the thick-set is dark and studded with pin-prick sized lights as we fly across New York.   
  
I haven’t been able to sleep this whole flight. I’m not exactly _nervous_ to go back home and see Madoc, but I’m not looking forward to it either. This is the first week we haven’t had a show and the absence of stuff to do is really upsetting me. I feel the sudden need to get my guitar from the seat we had to buy for it, and start tuning it just for something to _do_.  
  
I half-stand from my seat to check on my band mates. Liliver’s head is lolling to one side, and she’s wearing a sleep mask. Mad Max is still playing on her TV, and there’s a notebook full of chemical equations on the pull-out tray. Van is also asleep, his tiny little body curled up like a cat on the soft seat. His phone is plugged into charge in the little outlet on the seat body.  
  
Cardan is the only other one awake, not including the flight crew, but including the only other person in first class, an old lady who’s snoring loudly in the corner seat, her wrinkly little legs pushed into the back of Cardan’s seat.  
  
I raise an eyebrow at him, and whisper, “You’d think that, in first class, people would have enough room to stretch their legs without kicking you. Isn’t that what we paid for?”  
  
He nods and closes his eyes. He’s done a bad job of taking off his eyeliner, and it’s all smudged under his waterline. In the dim light of the cabin, his eyelashes cast pretty shadows across his cheekbones. “Sounds great in theory.” He tips his champagne flute toward me. I don’t know why _he_ got an actual flute, and _I_ got a water glass, but I don’t mention it. “But people always find a way to be a public nuisance.”  
  
“I don’t think it counts as a _public_ nuisance. It’s only affecting you?” I say. No matter how soft my voice is, it feels too loud in the cabin full of sleeping people. I lean closer, over my armrest, so I can practically breathe my next words. “You’re hardly the entirety of the public body.”  
  
He looks so affronted I have to stifle a laugh. In an enraged whisper, he says, “I am a member of the public, am I not? Any of my nuisances are therefore public nuisances.”  
  
I smile without my own permission, “I don’t think it’d be such a nuisance if you were asleep.” I say, and cringe slightly at the hypocrisy.   
  
He smiles back at me, sadly, “I can’t sleep.”  
  
I think I already know, but I ask anyway. His eyes are still closed, and it gives the eerie impression that I’m having a conversation with a sleeping person.“Why?”  
  
“I keep thinking about what Balekin will do next year.” He opens his eyes and looks at me. They’re so dark they appear black. It’s not the most unsettling thing about this situation. “I mean, at the time having you lot mess around with him was fun, but I think I’ll just get double as bad next year.”  
  
A thought occurs to me. It has occurred before, but I’ve never voiced it to him. I do now. “Why do you even go? You’re twenty four; you don’t need to go back to your brother’s house unless you want to. I’m not judging you if you _want_ to go-” even thought that would be insane. “but it just doesn’t seem like a smart idea.”  
  
He opens his mouth to say something, and promptly shuts it again. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute, his eyes glazing over with something I don’t recognise. Softly, finally, he says, “I don’t know.”  
  
“What do you mean?” I ask, matching his gentle tone.  
  
“Balekin tells me to come back, and I just do.” He says. Even in the noiseless cabin, I can barely hear his words. “I never considered that I could just _not go_.”  
  
I fully lean over the armrest and take his hand, prying it from it’s white-knuckled grip on his thigh, and press it to my lips. Into his skin, I mutter, “You’re a king, remember? You don’t have to answer to lowly peasants any longer.”  
  
He laughs softly, and the whole cabin fills with the sound of it. In spite of myself, heat rises to my face. I take his hand in both of my own and gently move it so my lips are pressed to the centre of his palm instead.  
  
“I love you.” He says. “I think I need you to survive.”  
  
I still against his hand at his first three words. _I love you_. We haven’t said anything like that before. But – then again – hadn’t we? I run over all the songs I’ve song to or with him in the past months.  
  
 _It’s a love story, baby just say yes.  
  
You come along because I love your face  
  
I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?  
  
Kiss me, kiss me  
  
_I knew I was singing those words to him. I intended to. Isn’t that a love confession in of itself? One could even say it was _more_ romantic because I was declaring it to thousands of people. But this is intimate. It’s just us. Me and him, alone and awake, in this cabin, not counting the dark-haired flight attendant I’m pretty sure is eavesdropping.  
  
“I love you too.” I say into his palm, and he visibly relaxes. “And, to answer you’re second statement: where would a king be without his queen?”  
  
___  
  
“Home sweet fucking home?” I groan, discarding my suitcase as soon as I cross threshold and flopping down on my plush sofa.  
  
I close my eyes, letting the soft leather relax my stiff muscles and sore back. First class may be comfortable and expensive, but it’s still a plane. My head is swarming with pictures of Cardan’s face and the words he whispered: _I love you. I think I need you to survive_.  
  
“You good there? Do I need to call a doctor? Are you dead?” Cardan asks amusedly from the doorway. I hear the gentle click of the door closing and the thud of him dropping his luggage on my expensive hardwood floor. I don’t complain.  
  
“Yes, no, no.” I say, but my words come out more like a sigh of relief. “I missed this couch. Come sit, it’s heavenly.”  
  
His shoes tap against the floor, getting slowly closer until I feel the sofa sink underneath me. A moment later, his head is resting on my legs. “This is actually a really comfortable couch.”  
  
“I know. It was one of the first things I bought with my tour money.” And by that, I mean that it was the only thing I bought, aside from the apartment, and I slept and lived on this couch until my next pay check, eating only coco pops and watching shitty daytime TV. I’m pretty sure I now have every episode of Golden Girls memorised, and a new disgust toward chocolate breakfast cereals.  
  
I run my thumb over my fingers, calluses scraping over calluses. I miss the feel of metal underneath my hands. “Get up. I’m going to sing you a song.”  
  
He lifts his head and allows me to shuffle out from under him. I stride over to the wall and pluck my favourite acoustic off the wall. It sounds _amazing,_ and it took Liliver and I a total of 23 grand minutes to splatter it in enough paint to cover a house.   
  
Before I settle back on the sofa, I kick off my shoes so I can sit cross legged. He opens his eyes, still laid down, tracking me. I strum once and we both wince at how out of tune it is. We don’t talk while I tune my guitar. I’m not exactly sure where the nerves in my belly come from.  
  
I strum gently once I’m fully tuned, running my fingers down the frets to get used to the guitar, after months of playing my electric, the strings feel new and weird under my fingertips. I quickly play the chords I need for **A Little Wicked** in quick succession.   
  
“Ready?” I ask him. He nods, his dark hair falling away from his face.  
  
 _“A little wicked”, that’s what he calls me  
  
Cause that’s what I am, that’s what I am  
  
_Butterflies fly in my stomach, twisting into knots. There’s something incredibly intimate about playing just for him. My hands move from chord to chord in a way that shows familiarity.   
  
_No one calls you honey when you’re sitting on a throne  
  
No one calls you honey when you’re sitting on a throne  
  
Beware the patient woman, because this much I know  
  
No one calls you honey when you’re sitting on a throne_  
  
His eyelids flutter closed, showing off the still-smudged eyeliner I haven’t had the heart to tell him he’s still wearing.   
  
_One of these days a-coming, I’m going to take that boy’s crown  
  
There’s a serpent in these still waters lying deep down  
  
To the king, I will bow, at least for now  
  
One of these days a-coming, I’m going to take that boys crown  
  
_He turns onto his side, his entire body manipulating the couch. My fingers don’t waver, but it’s a near thing. He seems to sense my glare, because he laughs ever so softly.  
  
 _Cause I am, I am a little wicked  
  
I am, I am  
  
Hands red, hands red just like he said  
  
I am a little wicked  
  
_One of his pale hands rests on my calf, holding it like a security blanket. The heel of his hand rests on my fibula, each of his fingers arched where they rest on the muscle of my calf, sending zings of electricity up through the muscle of my legs.  
  
 _No one calls you honey when you’re sitting on a throne  
  
I’ll be high up in the tower, he’ll be down there getting stoned_  
  
“Hell yeah.” He murmurs. “I fucking love getting high.” I grin and resist the urge to either smack him or tell him to shut up, both of which would interrupt the song I’m so _lovingly_ singing to him.  
  
 _Beware the patient woman, because this much I know  
  
No one calls you honey when you’re sitting on a throne  
  
_His thumb strokes across my leg. I feel the impulsive need to kick his hand away from me for distracting me. I sigh, reigning in my impulses.  
  
 _Cause I am, I am a little wicked  
  
I am, I am  
  
Hands red, hands red just like he said  
  
I am a little wicked_  
  
“You are an infernal woman.” Cardan says, lovingly. I smile as I sing, entirely too fond of his pretty words. He sure knows how to compliment a lady.  
  
 _As I lay me down to sleep,  
  
I will not scream, I will not weep  
  
If he should die before he wakes  
  
I’ll pray the Lord his soul to take_  
  
He bends his head, an awkward movement, seeing as he’s horizontal, until his forehead is pressed to my knee. His breath is hot through my leggings.  
  
 _Cause I am, I am a little wicked  
  
I am, I am  
  
Hands red, hands red just like he said  
  
I am a little wicked  
  
No one calls you honey when you’re sitting on a throne  
  
No one calls you honey when you’re sitting on a throne  
  
_I stop playing and gently prop my guitar between the couch and the coffee table. I’m not awaiting judgement _exactly,_ but I think it would be particularly nice for him to say something. We breathe together for a minute.  
  
He says, “Well, I feel very slightly threatened.”  
  
My mouth splits into a wide smile, “Always my aim.”  
  
“Other than the fact that I think you’re going to kill me in my sleep tonight, it was a lovely song. Is it from you’re first album?”  
  
I nod slowly, surprised that he even knew the song at all. When he first started working with us, he claimed that he’d never heard of us before. “I thought you’d never listened to our songs before.”  
  
He stiffens, his hand going flat on my calf. “No, I said I hadn’t intentionally listened to you. I never said that I hadn’t or wouldn’t.” He says smoothly, with an awkward sideways shrug.  
  
“You are such a motherfucker.” I say, and lean forward to kiss him.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave your song suggestions in the comments if you want to


	16. Portland, ME (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dungeons and dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song is hands off my mothica. all songs in this fic can be found by searching a.slingo, which is my spotify username

“Hey, Jude!” I call. I’m looking into the closet, in the spare bedroom/music room.  
  
“The fuck do you want?” She yells back, unreasonably grumpy for someone who has been awake for multiple hours. Her grumpiness can no longer be attributed to _not being a morning person_.   
  
“C’mere a second!”   
  
Her heavy footsteps come toward me. I hear her groan when she sees me looking into the closet. “Oh fuck, you found the DND closet.”  
  
Gleefully, I turn to her. “You call it the DND closet?”  
  
She groans even louder, and tries to close the doors. I put my foot in the way, but she continues trying. She says, “I am not talking to you about this.”  
  
“No, Jude it’s cool.” I insist, trying to open the door against her strong hand. “I’ve always wanted to play, but I was too cool.”  
  
“Gee, thanks.” She pushes against the door with even more force. Jesus, how had she not reached her full strength yet? I feel like my foots about to explode under the pressure. “You were just too _cool_ for DND, were you?”  
  
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I say, “I just – my friends would have _crucified_ me if I ever told them I didn’t want to vandalised cop cars and underage drink on a weekend.”  
  
Her pressure fades by the smallest degree.   
  
“Listen,” I tell her, “I always thought it would be cool to play, but I never knew anyone who was into it apart from the DND club at my school, which was full of incels that hated women and hated me. Even if I did want to join, Valerian would make fun of me so much that I’d basically go insane.”  
  
The pressure disappears. Jude snaps, “Do not make fun of me for this.” And then opens the doors wide for me to see.  
  
There are rolled up maps held in a plastic tub, with two large ones pinned to the back of the closet. Where shoes would normally be placed are a variety of model buildings, ranging from barely standing shacks to fortified castles. There are stacks of books towering to around my waist with titles such as: _Dungeons and Dragons 5 th Edition _and _The Players Handbook_. There’s a shelf with a dozen or so figurines, a few of which look homemade, but in a really cool way. A plastic set of draws are full of pieces of paper, each one covered in pencil scribbles and highlighter.  
  
“This is,” I say, with utmost honesty, “the coolest shit I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Her voice sounds casual, but in a way that suggests she is feeling anything but, “Really?”  
  
I pick up the book on the top of the pile and turn it over in my hands. I flick through the pages and land on a random one, which holds a grotesque picture of a monster, and tiny writing explaining whatever about it. “Yeah. Look at this little fucker. That’s what all babies look like.”  
  
“Cardan, that’s a beholder. It has one eye.” Jude says, very gently taking the book from my hands and setting it down on the stack, which wobbles dangerously as though its going to fall.  
  
“I fail to see your point. Babies are ugly as shit.” I say, picking up one of the little figurines. It’s one of the hand painted ones, and it portrays a green-skinned, green-haired girl, with sharply pointed ears and a terribly beautiful face. She’s wearing a skin-tight white skirt and a pink corset top. She’s wielding a baseball bat as though she’s ready to take a swing at someone, close range. “Who’s this chick?”  
  
“That’s Thea. I used her in a year-long campaign in a modern fantasy land.”  
  
“What’s her deal? Like is she uh, what’s the word...” I snap for the fingers and wait for the word to come for me. “Class! What’s her class?”  
  
I turn to look at Jude expectantly. She’s wearing a soft, fond smile. “She’s a sorcerer. She’s an elf who comes from a long line of powerful magic casters, with the gift of light. To be a sorcerer, you have to have inherited magic or have magic gifted to them by a deity. She wields her magic through her baseball bat, which she also uses to brain people.”  
  
“Wicked.” I say, and she blushes and scratches the back of her neck. Before she can say anything else, I pick up another one. This figurine is of a pretty badass looking black girl, with coily red hair, black ram’s horns curling over blunt but pointed ears. She has a cigarette clenched between sharp fingernails. The lady has flat black eyes, thigh high leather boots, an incredibly short black dress, and a gun holster on her hip. “This one?”  
  
“That’s Conally. She’s a tiefling rogue. All her party companions thinks she uses seduction to get people talking, but she just threatens to murder them. She’s really scary. She lost her arm when some guy wouldn’t take no for an answer, and chained her up, so she lobbed off her own arm.” When I look closer, I do see that her left arm is sawn off at the elbow.  
  
“She sounds pretty badass.” I admit. “Was there any other way to get out of the situation?”  
  
She grins at me, feral, “Not for her.”  
  
I pick up a third figure. This one is taller than the others, and significantly more muscular. Her skin is blue-toned but not _blue_ blue. She has short hair cut to below her ears, which is dyed purple on one side and a flattering shade of lavender on the other. She’s holding a very heavy looking, very _cool_ looking double edged sword. Her clothes are an off shoulder top and chequered pants.   
  
Jude snorts and takes the figure from my hands. “That’s Fury. She’s half-orc royalty currently on a vacation to New York. She’s a barbarian.”  
  
“She looks pretty cool.” I say. “You’ve got so many of these. Did you play a lot?”  
  
“We played weekly before tour. Campaigns take a lot of time, so we’d do it every Saturday night, with snacks and drinks. Getting progressively more drunk is not a good idea when facing down a tiefling mob, so we’d usually end the session there and watch shitty reality TV.”  
  
“Will you-” I hesitate, not entirely sure I want to ask. I shake my head. Jude wouldn’t make fun of me. “Will you be playing a new campaign now that the tours nearly over?”  
  
She shakes her head slowly, “We’ve still got three countries to play in, so we’ll probably do a one session campaign until we leave for the UK.” She pauses, then asks, “Would you want to join in?”  
  
I grin, “If it’s not to much trouble.”  
  
“I’ll tell Heather.” She says, smiling with me. “We’ll have to get you a character. What class would you be?”  
  
“Bards are the ones that can seduce people, right? I want to be a bard.”  
___  
  
This is the first time I’ve been at a bar in months. Jude sips a beer and talks to the barmaid in a way that tells me that Jude’s a regular. The barmaid has her arms crossed, but a light smile on her face. Jude’s talking with her free hand, making big swooping motions. I’m not actually paying attention to what she’s saying, I’m admiring how animated she looks.  
  
“Isn’t that right, Cardan?” She asks.  
  
I blink, trying to refocus my eyes. Her own eyes spark with amusement, so she _knew_ I wasn’t paying attention. Eloquently, I ask, “What?”  
  
The barmaid snorts and leans in close, her shaved head bowed so she can look me in the eye. “Alright, listen here dude. If you hurt Jude, she will personally murder you. Knife straight to the eye. I’m telling you this for your own safety.”  
  
“Yeah,” I say, glancing at Jude. “She’s already threatened me multiple times. I love a woman that could kill me if she wanted to.”  
  
She elbows me, and I feign injured, “I can’t believe you’ve done this. You’re raw, brute strength has broken every one of my ribs. I am going to die.”  
  
“Oh shut up, dramatic looking ass.” She says, but she’s smiling.  
  
The barmaid leaves subtly, to attend to another customer. I pout, “I need you to kiss it better.”  
  
She rolls her eyes, but leans forward and says into my ear, “Maybe later, darling. I’ve got to go on stage first.”  
  
I pull back so I can look her in the eye. “What?”  
  
She hadn’t told me why we were here. I just assumed it was a place of nostalgia, since everyone seemed to know her. When she walked in, at least three people hugged her, and a severe looking man shook her hand with the intensity of a battle general. Two old women asked her how the music was going, and then they fawned over the fact that we were dating. One of the pinched my cheek, sending Jude into a fit of laughter.  
  
“Everytime I come back home, I always play at this bar’s jam night. It was the place where me, Lili, Gar and Van got picked up by our label.”  
  
“Cool. Are you going up alone? I’ve not watched you perform alone in a while.”  
  
“I sang to you last night.”  
  
“That wasn’t a performance, that was a loving serenade to your beautiful boyfriend, and nothing more.” I inform her with a smirk.  
  
She shakes her head with another eye roll. “It’s just me. I’m borrowing Aidan’s acoustic.” She tells me, jerking her head back toward the waitress with the shaved head.  
  
I nod, “I just get to enjoy the show then?”  
  
“You just get to enjoy the show.” She agrees.  
  
Our conversation is interrupted by the squeak of a microphone. A bubbly blonde girl steps onto the small makeshift stage, and says into the microphone, “Hello, and welcome to Elfhame Brewery and Bar! This is our weekly jam night, but it’s not just any jam night, our very own Jude Duarte has stopped by during her tour!” I don’t see a person in this bar who _doesn’t_ clap for Jude. Someone whoops.  
  
She smiles and waves a hand at the woman on the stage. She calls up, “Do the rest of your job, Natalie!”  
  
A few people laugh. The bubbly woman - Natalie, presumably – says, “Our first singer this evening is Jude Duarte, in celebration of the success of the first leg of her tour!”  
  
Natalie steps off the stage as Jude stands up and kisses me on the cheek. The bartender, Aidan, passes her a clunky guitar case. Someone else drags one of the leather bar stools onto the stage. Jude sits and adjusts the microphone stand, then clicks open the guitar case. There is little more than mild chatter as she checks the tuning.  
  
“Okay,” She says into the mike, her voice commanding all attention, “I’m going to the song **Hands Off,** from my third album, _Blowing Up The Palace Of Versailles!_ , which you should all own, if you’re loving fans.” She laughs, a few people echo it. “That was a joke, by the way.”  
  
She strums a few chords, and sings, her voice low and morose.  
  
 _All of my friends  
  
Don’t know where I’ve been  
  
Cos I’m getting good at lying  
  
Maybe I’m in denial  
  
_I take another swig of my beer, only to find that it’s empty. The bottle is taken and replaced just as quickly by Aidan, who has settled with her arms crossed at the bar next to me.   
  
_I feel too much  
  
But it’s never enough  
  
I’m coming out of hiding  
  
Nobody else invited_  
  
I’ve heard this song done with the rest of the band, but it’s _so good_ with just her. Right now, there’s nothing in the world better than her voice.  
  
 _You know I’ve been getting to know a new side of myself  
  
What can you do?  
  
Can’t even get through the night, yeah I could use some help  
  
_Her eyes lock on me the chorus. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. Everyone else in the bar notices this, a few of them darting their eyes between me and her, but most people keep their eyes averted.  
  
 _I’d be down for sweet talk, so much I could say  
  
Do whatever you want, we could misbehave  
  
Baby leave the light on, I wanna see your face  
  
Keep your eyes on me, keep your eyes on me  
  
But your hands off  
  
Off, off  
  
But your hands off  
  
Off, off  
  
_I swallow thickly against the lump in my throat. Is she looking at me because she’s trying to communicate something? I’ve never watched any of the interviews where the band explains the meanings of the lyrics. Maybe I’ll ask her about it later.  
  
 _Get ahead of yourself  
  
I know what you want  
  
Yeah, I know what you’re implying  
  
There’s something about the timing  
  
So don’t get too close  
  
We’re taking it slow  
  
You touch me like you’re impatient  
  
It’s getting complicated_  
  
She drops her eyes as she goes through the pre-chorus and chorus again, keeping them trained on the frets. I vaguely wonder if she wrote this about Locke. She didn’t know me when she wrote, this because I joined halfway through the first leg of the _Blowing Up The Palace Of Versailles!_ tour.  
  
Her words are pretty but threatening, the melody weaving in and out of consciousness. It’s like her in every way.  
  
 _Cause I want, I want  
  
But you take, you take, and I never know  
  
What so say, what so say, so I don’t  
  
So I don’t  
  
_She runs through the chorus once more, before finishing with a final chord. People clap as she clicks Aidan’s guitar back into it’s case. She gets to her feet, leaving the stool for the next person, and makes her way back to me.  
  
She swings the case onto the bar, narrowly avoiding a stray glass, for Aidan to take back. She leans over the bar and pours herself a shot, and then a second, which she sets down in front of me.  
  
“So,” She says, throwing back her shot with ease, “what did you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave any songs you want put in in the comments if you please


	17. Portland, ME (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh they playing dnd babes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear they're going back on tour after this chapter
> 
> song for this chapter is Wasteland. Baby! by Hozier. 
> 
> all songs for this au can be found on my spotify account (a.slingo) in a playlist named the Court Of Shadows

There’s a knock at the door. I send a warning look to Cardan. Liliver and Van don’t know that we’re _actually_ dating. I think, though, that they’d have to be stupid to not realise it by now. We kiss when the cameras aren’t around. He’s staying at my apartment for fucks sake. Both of them know that I have no spare bed – both of the extra bedrooms are too full of stuff to actually house anyone. But, Heather and Vivi have only heard of Cardan through tweets, and the blunt texts I send them.  
  
Cardan flashes me a smile too innocent to be his, one that says “ _Oh me? I’d never do anything_.” I open the door, greeted with the sight of my sister and her wife. Vivi embraced me in a hug, already demanding to know every detail. Then, she noticed Cardan lingering behind me, and she bolted passed me into the living room, leaving Heather and her box of perfectly laminated maps and DM notebooks standing in the doorway.   
  
I’ve never felt truly comfortable with Heather. She’s a lovely person, and I couldn’t ask for a better sister-in-law, but she didn’t grow up the way I did. She didn’t understand the violence under my skin, the defiance under Vivi’s, or the longing under Taryn’s. She was perfectly ordinary. I think that’s why Vivi loves her so much – she’s a breath of fresh air in the clusterfuck that was our childhood.  
  
I step aside awkwardly, allowing her into our house. She smiles and does that one-armed hug that you do when you’ve got an armful of things but still feel the need to make physical contact. I ask, gesturing to the box, “Do you want me to take that?”  
  
“Could you? That’d be great.” She says with relief, handing me the box and shrugging off her jacket. This, I knew. This was routine. Heather would hang up the denim jacket that she always wears. Her and Vivi would take out all the snacks someone had bought and chatter gently about their week, they would ask me about the band, and I’d always say, “You can ask them yourself.” Liliver and Van would arrive, and help with the snacks and the alcohol, each drink customised to the character we were playing.  
  
But – no, this time is different. Heather takes off the denim jacket she always wears. But, instead of raiding my cupboards, she joins Vivi in front of Cardan. I purse my lips and walk past them, ignoring the look of _help_ from Cardan, to set Heather’s box down on the table.  
  
“So.” Vivi says, craning her neck up to look my boyfriend in the eye. “When did you and Jude start dating?”  
  
Cardan scratches the back of his neck, “You mean when it was official? Well, that’s actually a funny story-”  
  
I interrupt, not in the mood for questionings, “There is no need to interrogate anyone. Start getting the snacks out, Lili and Van will be here any moment.”  
  
Vivi puts both of her hands up in fake surrender, but doesn’t argue, taking down the deep bowls we use for chips.   
  
Cardan leans down to press his forehead to mine. His hair tickles my cheekbones. “Thank you.” He says in a pleasant whisper, “I thought they were going to stick my head on a pike.”  
  
“Be careful,” I warn, moving my head so that my lips press to his forehead in something reminiscent of a kiss, “I might yet do that.”  
  
He laughs and its the most exhilarating feeling I’ve had in a while. He is a carefree man that laughs at most things, but somehow, when he laughs with me, it feels different. Special. “I do adore you for that.”   
  
Heather says, her voice coming from over near the big glass dining table “Stop flirting and help me set this up.”  
  
I tap Cardan’s temple in a mockery of a salute and go over to Heather, helping her take out her beautifully illustrated maps. She sends me a look I’m not sure how to interpret: something knowing, but cautionary and confused. Overall, I don’t understand what she’s trying to communicate. Maybe I don’t want to know. I go to my music room and pick up the figure of Laureline – a human rogue with a hatred of monarchies and penance for slitting her enemies’ throats while they sleep.  
  
By the time I return, Heather has everyone’s new character sheets set out neatly in front of them, along with mismatched pens she found in the old, chipped mug full of half empty pens. None of them had been bought for the purpose of staying in the mug, but once they had made their way there, they never made it out. The current map was that of a tavern. Heather takes the Laureline figure from my hand and places it so, if this were a real tavern, she would be shrouded in shadows. From the box, she procures the tiny figure she had made for Cardan’s character, and places it on what would be the stage, if this was real place, as well as putting Vivi’s Halfling cleric near the entrance.  
  
Since Cardan seemed to be as bored as I was in this past week, I had let him read nearly all of my DND books to create his character. Once created, he seemed to be genuinely pleased at the Elvin bard Heather now holds in her hand. Carric Amastacia became a travelling minstrel after discovering his ability to weave music into spells. He got bored of performing for his woodland village, and vowed to find better stories for his songs by experiencing life as an adventurer.  
  
The first time Heather heard Cardan’s voice, it had been over the phone while he explained what he wanted Carric to look like. It had gone something like this: “Uh, they’re tall and skinny right? Yeah, he’s an elf, so he’d be like six feet tall and thin as a wishbone. Really pale, but in a human way. If you looked at just his skin, he’d just look like a guy who doesn’t go in the sun that often. His hair... he’s got the fantasy equivalent of a floppy e-boy haircut. Cerulean blue. Silver eyes. He only wears the finest clothes, because he’s a posh little bitch. What’s that fancy ass instrument, Jude? A lute? Yeah, that’s what he uses.”  
  
It had not been a very conversational interaction. Cardan talked, Heather drew. He thanked her when she sent over the finished product. She sent her drawing to her friend, who sent it to his boyfriend, who made the figures for free if Heather painted them herself.  
  
There’s another knock on the door. I step away from Heather and let Lili and Van in. Come to think of it, I don’t know why they knock at all. Van already picks the lock to the building. Maybe it’s just a knock of politeness.   
  
They bring carrier bags full of alcohol. They get to work making drinks easily, as though we hadn’t disrupted this weekly routine with months of touring. The first drinks they pour are their own, and from the coffee liqueur and coca-cola going into one glass, Liliver’s playing with her Tiefling ranger, Kallista. The vodka and cranberry juice going into the other tells me Van’s playing his gnome druid, Eldon.   
  
“Jude?” Liliver asks, not looking up from where she’s perfectly measuring gin in a shot glass for Vivi.   
  
“What?”   
  
Lili pours the gin into a wine glass – I don’t own gin glasses – and pours enough tonic in to drown out the taste. “Who are you playing with?”  
  
“Laureline.” This means I’m on a Long Island Iced Tea. Don’t ask why, because I couldn’t tell you.  
  
Lili nods, and pours out my drink. It takes her barely any time, her well-practiced fingers measuring perfectly without a second glance, or maybe even without a first glance. I take my drink from her outstretched hand, and take a sip. It’s done exactly to my taste. It always is.  
  
“Cardan?” Liliver asks, not needing to elaborate.  
  
Cardan ponders this for a moment, studying the intricate figurine of Carric. “You got the stuff for a Cosmopolitan?”  
  
Lili grins and pours the drink out as quickly as she did mine. Cardan nods as he takes a sip. Heather is the only one not drinking, because drunk players is one thing, but a drunk DM is another thing _entirely_.  
  
We all take our seats. Cardan studies the illustrated tavern, the positions of each one of our characters – me, in the corner; Lili talking with the barmaid; Van sitting moodily alone; Vivi standing in the doorway; himself on the stage.  
  
“In the old Fiery Grog Tavern, a travelling bard named Carric Amastacia performs his song; a tale of Elnred the Magnificent. As he passes by a seemingly empty portion of the tavern, a hand holding a singular coin proffers itself to him. The bard takes the coin without question, and continues his song while re-assessing the shadowed corner. Stepping out of the shadows, comes a human rogue by the name of Laureline Brightwood.”  
  
“Can I seduce Laureline.” Asks Cardan.  
  
“I mean,” Heather looks down at her version of Cardan’s character sheet. “It’d be in character. Go ahead and roll a d20 with charisma to seduce Laureline.”  
  
Cardan takes his borrowed set of dice – one of my old ones – and throws the d20. He makes a face, and then looks at his character sheet. I’m across the table, so I can’t clearly see the die. “Four, with charisma.”  
  
“Ok,” says Heather, “You send Laureline a wink and she laughs in your face.”  
  
Liliver snorts. “So it’s the same as real life?”  
  
“Carric continues on his way around the tavern.”  
  
“I trip him up!” Liliver says.  
  
Heather inhales deeply and says, “Ok, go ahead and make a slight of hand check.”  
  
Liliver rolls, “Shit, nat 1.”  
  
Cardan laughs. Liliver sticks her tongue out at him. Heather continues, “Carric dodges Kallista’s well-placed foot and continues on his journey. He sings until his set is over, thankful for the barmaid who had been keeping him supplied with alcohol in exchange for his entertainment. He takes a seat at the bar, and the barmaid turns toward him, and asks,” Heather puts on a gruff, sailor-esque voice, “ ‘Aye, bard, do ye be knowing where I can find an adventuring party? The old alchemist’s laboratory is overrun with mutant rats.”  
  
Not the most tactful, but this is, at most, a two session campaign, and we don’t have time for elaborate plots.   
  
Cardan says, “I know of no such party. Literally every person I’ve met has hated me, and left me to die in a gutter.”  
  
I snort, “Wow, I wonder why.”  
  
“Can you all roll initiative to see who introduces themselves first? Except Cardan.” Heather asks. We all pick up our d20s and roll.   
  
I say, “Haha, fuck you all. Nat 20.”  
  
“Fuck you.” Liliver says with no venom, “18”  
  
“7” Van says, folding his arms across his middle.  
  
“14” Vivi says, not sounding pleased about it.  
  
“Great, ok, Laureline introduces herself first.” Heather says, looking for me to take the lead.  
  
“Alright. I, like, slip out of the shadows and sit on a stool. I do it quietly enough that I scare the shit out of Carric.”  
  
Heather laughs, “Roll for stealth.”  
  
I roll, and then add my dexterity bonus, “Nice, 17.”  
  
Heather says, “You scare the shit out of Carric. What do you say?”  
  
“I know an adventuring party.”  
  
“Where are they?” Cardan asks.  
  
“I’m the only one. I’m more than you’ll ever need.”  
  
“Nice line.” Vivi says appreciatively. I nod.  
  
“Unfortunately, dear human, an adventuring party usually consists of more than just one.” Cardan says, taking on the role of a disdainful elf. His eyes sweep around the table. “Five, for example.”  
  
Liliver smacks her arm down on the bar, palm flat and elbow pointing. “I heard you were looking for an adventuring party?”  
  
“Oh, how lovely.” Cardan says with distaste, “There’s two of you.”  
  
“I hate rats. I’ll be glad to exterminate them.”  
  
“Who are the both of you, exactly?” Cardan asks. He looks at his nails as if he couldn’t really care less.  
  
“Laureline.” I say, keeping my words blunt and drawn in.  
  
“Mysterious.” Liliver comments. “My names Kallista. I’m a ranger, at your service,” She holds her hand out to Cardan over the table. He shakes her hand, so she offers it to me. I stare at it until she drops it with a wide grin.  
  
“Well, three people are hardly an adventuring _party_.” Cardan says. “An adventuring trio, perhaps. An adventuring group of pals, maybe-”  
  
“Jesus.” I cut him off, “This is why I hate bards. Too many words.”  
  
Liliver cackled. Cardan snorted, seemingly in spite of himself. I let the sound of their laughter surround me like a warm blanket. Maybe, just maybe, I could relax into a schedule once again. Of course, all that would be interrupted by the next leg of our tour. But maybe after that. _Maybe_.  
  
___  
  
“Jude.” The word is little more that a breath in the darkness of my – _our_ – room. Cardan’s voice is so soft I think I could’ve imagined.  
  
Still, I say, “Yes?”  
  
“I can’t sleep.” He admits. This does not come as a surprise to me. He’s barely slept since we’ve been here. It’s a miracle he doesn’t have mile long under-eye bags.  
  
“Me neither.” I tell him, and, for a moment, we both stare into the darkness together, thigh to thigh, my arm curled around his side and my cheek pressed to his chest.  
  
“Can I sing you to sleep?” He asks.   
  
I let my fond smile curl my mouth. “Sure. But only as penance for the time I serenaded you.  
  
He chuckles, the sound way too loud for the completely silent, still apartment. When he sings its a hushed lullaby version of a song I’ve heard before. I can feel his chest hum under my head.  
  
 _All the fear and the fire of the end of the world  
  
Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl  
  
Happens great, happens sweet  
  
Happily, I’m unfazed here too  
  
_I let my eyes fall closed. The levels of darkness don’t change, I just can’t see the tiny sliver of moonlit skin that my head rested on. I attempt to control my breathing as much as I can.  
  
 _Wasteland baby  
  
I’m in love, I’m in love with you  
  
_Did he hear the way my breath hitched ever so slightly after he sang those lines? From the smile in his voice now he most definitely did. It’s not that surprising, given that the only sound in the apartment is the soft huskiness of his voice.   
  
_All the things yet to come are the things that have passed  
  
Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass  
  
Like the bonfire that burns  
  
At all worth in the fight fell too  
  
_The rhythm of his singing is nice and sweet, and it feel myself lulling into unconsciousness. I try to stay awake just a little longer, to hear the end of his song. I know it’s meant to send me to sleep, but I’m going to ignore that fact for now.  
  
 _Wasteland, baby  
  
I’m in love, I’m in love with you  
  
And I love too, that love soon might end  
  
Be known in its aching  
  
Shown in the shaking  
  
Lately of my wasteland, baby  
  
Be still my indelible friend  
  
You are unbreaking  
  
Though quaking, though crazy  
  
That’s just wasteland, baby_  
  
I have to say, I’m quite partial to _baby_ as a pet name. It’s really sweet. I’m pretty sure Cardan can feel my cheeks heating where the left side presses against his chest. His fingers tangle in my hair, combing through it with long, slow strokes. It takes everything I have to not sigh into the touch, into the way his filed short fingernails scrape against my scalp when they push through knots.  
  
 _And that day we watch the death of the sun  
  
That the cloud and the cold   
  
And those jeans you have on  
  
And you gaze unafraid   
  
As they sob from the city ruins._  
  
I’ve finally pinpointed the song. It’s **Wasteland, Baby!** By Hozier. The only time I’ve heard it was when Cardan hums it under his breath while doing other things. I think, in fact, he hummed it while making me pancakes for breakfast this very morning  
  
He repeats the chorus again, and all I can think of his how nice his voice sounds. He’s always had a fairly deep voice, but sometimes he goes really deep in this song, and the vibration echo through my skull pleasantly. I think vaguely, in half-formed thoughts, about that youtuber/singer with the deep voice. I reckon Cardan could cover one of his songs.  
  
 _And the stench of the sea and the absence of green  
  
Are the death of all things  
  
That are seen or unseen  
  
Not an end, but the start of all things  
  
That are left to do  
  
_His voice is getting so soft its barely there. It’s hard to decipher whether this is because of my gradual ease into sleep, or if he’s doing it purposefully.  
  
 _Wasteland, baby  
  
I’m in love, I’m in love with you  
  
_He extracts his hand from my hair with a gentleness I’ve never experienced from his before. From anyone, really.   
  
“Sleep.” He whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any song suggestions, please leave them in the comments.
> 
> halfway through this E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE! came on and my brain said "what if Cardan could do corpse's voice" and thats been my only thought for the past seventeen minutes


	18. Manchester, England (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "gettiing horny on stage" is a tag I truly meant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am from manchester. this was a very self-indulgent chapter for me to write. I don't know how america works, but i know how my home city works. fuck yeah
> 
> the song is E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE! by CORPSE because listen. I'm gay but not for him

“Hello, Manchester!” Jude yells into the microphone. “How’d you feel about being our first _ever_ show in the UK?”  
  
The screams from the crowd are almost deafening. Into my own microphone, I say, “I think they might be a bit excited about it.”  
  
Jude laughs a high carefree sound that I’ll be playing in my head over and over again until I die. She says, “If you were one of the people who voted on our Twitter poll, you may have noticed that every song you could choose from is a Corpse song. This is because I found something out that’s truly _fascinating._ My lovely boyfriend can make his voice go super deep. Trust me on this one.”  
  
I quirk my lips in a smile. I spent all morning practicing the song, along with most of the plane ride and the days before we flew over to England. Every time I hollowed out my voice to sing that deeply, Jude looked away with pink cheeks. It was a good look on her.  
  
“And so,” Jude says to the roaring crowd. “Here’s his cover of **E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE!** ”  
  
The strong, heavy back in track comes in. My bass isn’t around my neck and I feel its absence more that I’d like to.  
  
 _Choke me like you hate me , but you love me  
  
Lowkey wanna date me when you fuck me  
  
_The crowd is so loud I can barely hear myself sing. Jude has stalked her way across the stage. I unhook the microphone from its stand and meet her halfway, looking directly into her eyes as I continue on.  
  
 _Touch me with the lights off and my chains on  
  
Baby, I’m not the right one you should wait on  
  
_I let my voice grate on the last note, as Jude’s hand snakes up my chest to fist my necklaces and tug me slightly down so her breath is hot on my neck and her teeth are dangerously near my jugular. My hearts pounding so hard she can probably feel it through the thin fabric of her dress.  
  
 _She a freak, lil bad hoe  
  
Gaspare told me kill it I said “Let me grab my Death Note”  
  
_Her breathing is heavy and quick, blowing hot and cold onto the skin of my neck, making goosebumps erupt there. It’s a hard feat to keep my voice level and low as she presses her lips softly to my neck, one of her hands twisting my chains ever so slightly, the other flattening on the flat panes of my stomach as if to hold me down.  
  
 _Uh, she pull me in like a lasso  
  
Saying that she know me, I don’t even know her at though  
  
_Jude’s hand releases my chains, but I don’t straighten back up again, using my now free neck to stretch backwards like a cat. Slowly and deliberately, Jude cups a hand around the back of my throat, making sure to not go anywhere near my windpipe so I could sing.  
  
 _Ain’t no daddy issues then I won’t even bother  
  
She say I kill her cat like I’m Luka Magnotta  
  
_She brings her mouth upto my neck once more, but instead of kissing the skin there, she licks a thin stripe up. Her tongue piercing drags and makes me shiver subtly. The storm of noise coming from the makes me remember, and regret, that we’re still in public.  
  
 _Real bad bitch, pussy bald like Saitama  
  
They used to hate me, now they want me, bitch I feel like I’m Gaara  
  
_Her hand snakes across my chest and across my back, until she finds the hem of my t-shirt and runs her hand underneath it, dangerously near the belt of my jeans. Part of me wants to tell her to stop untucking my shirt but another, larger part of me wants to just start making out with her right now on stage. I can’t do either of those things, though, because we _are_ on stage, _and_ I’m still singing.  
  
 _Uh, girl you fucking with the wrong one  
  
Fuck his team, fuck your clique, bitch, I’m on one_  
  
And then her hands are gone. And then she’s walking away to the darkened part of the stage. I try not to let the obvious shock show on my face. It must’ve though, because by the time Jude had swallowed half of her water bottle in one gulp, she’s smirking at me again.  
  
 _Fuck your stream, fuck your clip, you ain’t saw one  
  
Got your bitch on my dick like she want one  
  
_People scream. I;m pretty sure I see a girl in the front row swoon. The band’s songs are usually explicit in the sense that Jude couldn’t stop swearing even if she wanted to, but not usually explicit in the sense of _I got your bitch on my dick_. It seems to be taking a toll on some of the younger audience member. By that, I mean that the youngest you can be is sixteen, precisely because of the nature of the show.  
  
 _Look and she got Death Note, dead souls, split dye, chain cold  
  
I think I fell in love when she said “Grab me by the neck” though  
  
_I return to my usual place, hooking the microphone back into its stand but keeping my hands clasped firmly around it as I sing. I’m sweating, and it sticks my hair to my face and the sleeves of my t-shirt to my arms. I rake one hand through my sweat-slick hair and let it fall down in my face again.  
  
 _All through the night, colder than ice  
  
Man, I swear these goth girls finna fuck up my life_  
  
Jude’s back over near me, positioning herself so that my body is angled towards her but I can keep singing. Her index fingers loop through my belt and haul my hips toward her. With that movement, she pressed her against mine so that I can feel our chests brush when we breathe unevenly.  
  
 _Bat wing fly like the moon in the sky  
  
She just look into my soul with them Shinagami eyes  
  
_She reaches hooks one thin finger through the slim sliver hoop in my left ear, tugging gently. I tip my head back to expose my throat to her, and she takes that finger and trails it down until it reaches the neckline of my shirt, making sure to scrape her jagged fingernails, the black nail polish chipped, in light patterns I can barely distinguish.  
  
 _Coke in my nose and a blade on her thigh  
  
Man, I think this girls is really tryna plan my demise  
  
_I drop one hand and run it from her hip up and _up and up,_ tracing along her curves until it snags on the leather choker she wears around her neck. I curl my finger around it, watching the way my ring presses into her skin, and pull her closer.  
  
 _It’s the pumpkin patch king with the corpse with the ring  
  
And she’d fuck my best friend if I die here today  
  
_I smoothly extract my finger and instead wrap my entire hand round her slim neck, squeezing on the sides, but not crushing her windpipe. I squeeze tight enough that a faint impression of the many rings that litter my fingers will be left on her skin. The feel of the choker and her climbing blood pressure is almost addictive.  
  
 _Choke me like you hate me, but you love me  
  
Lowkey wanna date me when you fuck me_  
  
I let go of her neck and she breathes out deeply. Momentarily, I’m worried I hurt her. I’m pretty sure she’d signal me somehow if I had, but her eyes are completely unreadable. I work to keep up my demeanour and keep my voice as low at is.  
  
 _Touch me with the lights off and my chains on  
  
Baby, I’m not the right one you should wait on  
  
_I drag that note out scraping the bottom of my vocal range. When the songs done the crowd erupts in a tempest of screams and shouts. Jude’s fist balls up in the front of my shirt, and before I know it she’s pulled me down to crash her lips to mine. She kisses me feverishly, and then slides her lips to my ear and practically _growls_ “Jesus fucking Christ, that was hot.”  
  
___  
  
Jude practically slams me into the door of our hotel room. I groan as the hard wood hits my back, and groan even more when her mouth attacks my jawline, teeth scraping and tongue swirling. My hand finds her ponytail and twists into it, giving it and experimental pull.  
  
She gasps, blowing cool air onto the wet mark on my neck, and arches against me, pressing our bodies together even more, if possible. She makes a half-aborted moan. My other hand grasps her hip.  
  
“Wait, Cardan.” She says, and my hand immediately falls off her waist, out of her hair. “No, you can continue.” She takes my hand in hers and puts its back on her waist. “It’s just I... I’ve never done this before.” _  
  
_She almost sounds _embarrassed_. As if her not being stupid and young like I was is something to be _ashamed_ about.  
  
“Don’t worry.” I say, lifting my free hand to the round shell of her ear. “Just make sure to communicate. Tell me what you like and don’t like.” I re-curl my fingers in the end of her ponytail. “Is this ok?”  
  
“Yes.” She whispers and drops her head to my chest. I tighten my grip so the movement makes her hair strain. She groans against my chest. If I thought her laugh would be in my mind until the day I die, I was wrong. That sound, that sweet, frustrated sound would haunt my thoughts.  
  
“Maybe we should move away from the door.” I say with half a laugh, abruptly aware of the hard wood pressing into my back. “Can I pick you up?”  
  
She nods, so I move my hands so they’re grasping her thighs. I pick her up and she wraps my legs around my waist while I move us to the bed. We mostly fall, because her legs are still wrapped around me.  
  
She laughs and kisses me, teeth nipping at my lower lip. One of her hands finds the tucked in ends of my t-shirts and tugs on them in a question. With her legs still flushing my pelvis to hers, I straighten as much as possible and tug of the short sleeve tee, then the long sleeve, leaving my chains on so she can wind her hand through them all she likes.  
  
We’re kissing again before I know it, her lipsticks surely making a mess of both our mouths. I can’t exactly bring myself to care. My hands push her hips into the softness of the mattress, and her hands scrape up my now bare back hesitantly.   
  
We stop kissing when theres a knock on the door.  
  
“You know.” I say, my lips that close to hers that, when I speak, they brush together. “We could just tell them to fuck off.”  
  
She hums and brings her lips to mine once more.  
  
Liliver’s voice yells, “Stop fucking and come get ice cream! Taryn just booked us for Reading Festival.”  
  
With a small groan, Jude unwinds her legs. Part of me is excited to have been booked for such a big thing (in the UK, at least) as Reading Festival. A larger part of me just wants to reacquaint my lips with hers.  
  
I’m already reaching for my t-shirts when Jude calls out, “Give us a fucking minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA YOU THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO FUCK


	19. Reading, England (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the court does reading festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took my seven fucking years to write because there are FOUR FUCKING SONGS IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> -Hot Mess by GIRLI  
> -This Is Why I'm Hot by Kaili Morgue (this ones been stuck in my head)  
> -Razzmatazz by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME  
> -acting like that by YUNGBLUD and Machine Gun Kelly
> 
> all the songs will be on my court of shadows playlist, which is on my spotify account (a.slingo)

I’m nervous.  
  
I’ll fucking admit it, okay? I’m nervous. Reading is a fucking massive setting, and it’s only our second gig in England. So far, it hasn’t been that bad. Sure, nothing much has happened, but that only means that there’s more chance of something bad happening later on.  
  
Really, the only thing worth noting was Cardan getting all wide-eyed over My Chemical Romance, then, when they came backstage to tell us good luck, I had to endure him being antagonistic toward the lead singer. I was told to keep my mouth shut by Taryn, unless I needed to. She said she didn’t want me making any of the other bands hate us. What she didn’t account for, though, was Cardan’s silver tongue. After they had left, Cardan turned to me and told me that it was _him_ who made Cardan realise he was pansexual.  
  
The stage is completely dark as we file on, the only light coming from the screen displaying our band logo – a dagger dripping blood onto a crown. I take my place in front of the microphone, slinging my guitar around my neck. The spray painted crown and Q on the face marks it as the special guitar I only use for festivals. Liliver’s drums have a sprayed on bomb and B. Van’s guitar has a bug crawling up the side and an R. You get the picture. It was actually kind of a hurry to get Cardan’s knew bass; a matte black one with veins of gold running through it, with a sprayed of crown and K in a matching gold colour.  
  
We didn’t announce ourselves. Van just started with the first bar of **Hot Mess,** and we went from there. Usually, the song had only one are before the intro, but the screaming and the sheer mass of the crowd allowed him to play two. I stepped on a pedal by my feet to distort my voice, just for the intro. I played a simple broken chord to substitute the drums Lili would be playing, to account for when she’d join before the chorus.  
  
 _I guess I’m messy, I’m messy, I’m messy  
  
I’m all messed up  
  
I’m messy, I’m messy  
  
I’m all messed up  
  
I’m messy, I’m messy  
  
I’m all messed up  
  
I’m messy as a boy and I don’t give a fuck  
  
_The lights flared on.  
 _  
_Liliver’s drum kicked in at the same time of Cardan’s bass. The verse was a lot more hyped up, so I released the pedal, all while keeping my lips practically glued to the microphone, acknowledging the crowd, adjusting my eyes to the sudden flare of lavender-tinted light, and keeping pace with my chords.  
  
 _Walk into the room with my skirt tucked into my shoes  
  
I skated here, I’m sweating, had a good day, how ‘bout you  
  
Let’s talk about things, Dan, game plan  
  
Hey Stan, why ya talking over me?   
  
Chatting shit, I’m not a kid, well this is patronising  
  
_I don’t need to play the chords anymore, so I sling my guitar over my back and take the microphone from its stand, so I can walk to the end of the stage. I wave in a general direction and people scream. It makes me smile.  
  
 _Then explain how you studied this at Uni so you’d know  
  
More than me about the things, that paid for my phone  
  
Why don’t you make it a hat trick and comment on my luck  
  
Like, “bit outlandish, love, but y’know, don’t judge a book.”  
  
_I raise my hands and clap a simple rhythm that gets picked up easily enough by the field of people, rippling out as more people catch on.   
  
_I don’t know who you think I am  
  
But your bitch is not one  
  
I’m good at what I do  
  
And don’t ever let anyone  
  
Tell me that your songs ok,   
  
But sweetie did you know  
  
A couple changes here and there would make it super cool.  
  
_I move around the stage easily, going between my band members, giving Van a thumbs up, giving Cardan a wink, and smiling at Lili. I loop back around until I’m facing Cardan. He faces me, his eyes on his bass, so I sing to him.  
  
 _They say I’m a hot mess  
  
I don’t care what they say  
  
They say I’m a hot mess  
  
Cause I know what I’m doing  
  
Guess I’m just a hot mess  
  
Cause I say what I like and what I hate  
  
Everyday, everyday  
  
_When he looks up, his black eyes are tinged purple by the back lighting. The colour catches in his hair, the curls glinting like they’re made from amethyst. The light carves out his cheekbones. He looks like he was hewn from heavenly marble and cast in the fires of hell.   
  
_They say I’m a hot mess  
  
I don’t care what they say  
  
They say I’m a hot mess  
  
Cause I know what I’m doing  
  
Guess I’m just a mess  
  
Cause I say what I like and what I hate  
  
Hot mess  
  
Everyday, everyday, everyday  
  
_I whirl around and go back to my stand, so I can press the pedal and distort my voice for the post-chorus once more. I can feel his eyes on my back, but I ignore him, hooking my microphone back into its stand and raising my arms in a _get your fucking arms up_ gesture.  
  
 _I guess I’m messy, I’m messy, I’m messy  
  
I’m all messed up  
  
I’m messy, I’m messy  
  
I’m all messed up  
  
I’m messy, I’m messy  
  
I’m all messed up  
  
I’m messy as a boy and I don’t give a fuck  
  
_I step off the pedal so my voice is returned to normal. I make my voice go all high and girly, like the bitchy girls I used to see at school. I talk instead of sing.  
  
 _Don’t you think she’d look a bit nicer if she combed her hair every once in a while  
  
Look at those jeans, so messy, jeez  
  
You know what, her natural hair colour would look so much nicer with her bone structure  
  
She probably doesn’t even write her songs  
  
_I do a fake little laugh before going back to singing. Oh – and that line, the one about natural hair colour? This song was on the first album, when I had my hair split-dyed, half-black, half-blonde. It was a _thing_.   
  
_Open up my mouth and rap some fiction poems prose  
  
But all that you can focus on is my makeup and clothes  
  
I don’t have perfect skin, I don’t live in fairytale land  
  
Stop telling me to grow some balls I’m happy as a woman  
  
_I unhook the microphone again, because I need to keep moving. All my limbs feel jittery and my head is full of adrenaline. I’m always like this on stage – like a can’t keep still or I’ll die.  
  
 _Also on that subject maybe you should change your look  
  
Your presentation’s scruffy and its time you really took  
  
This whole thing seriously, do you really want success?  
  
Just cause I’m a girl I think that you think you know best  
  
_We go through the chorus again, with me jumping around the stage and singing the chorus. I wrote this song when I was angry at the world (and our first manager) about treating me differently _just_ because I’m a woman. Like, get a better reason. There are _plenty_ of other reasons to dislike me.  
  
We move onto the bridge and I make my voice really high and typically feminine.  
  
 _I’m so stupid please tell me  
  
How the world works, I’m female you see  
  
Please stop using such big words  
  
My brain can’t take it  
  
I’m just a little girly_  
  
I go into my head voice for the last word before quickly transitioning into the chorus. When I jump around and sing into Cardan’s face, he joins in with a wicked smile. It makes my heart lift up and burst in a way I’m not sure I like. I’m certainly not used to it.  
  
Once the outro, which is the same as the intro, fades away, I let the screams and cheers of the crowd wash over me. I raise my hands and take what is a mockery of a bow.  
  
“Get your fucking hands up Reading!” I say, shoving one hand in the air. The ripple of hands flying into the air is exhilarating. “We are the Court of Shadows!” People whoop. I let them get it out of their system before speaking again. “And this is our first time at Reading Festival. And, look, I know this is a dumb question, but give me a yell if you’ve ever been to one of our shows before.”  
  
A moderate amount of people yell. It’s more people than I thought would cheer. I can’t imagine this many people fitting into the stadiums we play in.  
  
“So, for the rest of you, it’s your first show?” More people yell, if just by a fraction. “Well, this is how it goes. I’m the Queen,” I point at my chest, before pointing to each of my band mates in turn. “That’s my King, she’s the bomb, and he’s the Roach.”  
  
They cheer more. I really appreciate the enthusiasm.   
  
“This next song is called **This Why I’m Hot**.”  
  
I play my quick chord progression as Liliver slams on her drums behind me. I can’t hear the roar of the crowd, too surrounded by all our music. Cardan screams “Fuck!” Into the microphone and people yell obscenities at him. Him getting all this attention makes my heart twinge in a way I don’t like, in a way that reminds me of the time I saw Nicasia’s contact in his phone. It’s not _jealousy_ , I don’t think. Maybe it’s more _selfishness_. I want him all to myself.  
  
 _Bum me a cigarette, feed my addiction  
  
‘Cause that’s what friends are for, right?  
  
I’m coming down off a homemade prescription  
  
‘Cause that’s what friends are for, right?  
  
Little disorder in my sleeping quarters  
  
Yeah that sounds like a good time  
  
Bite ‘til my lip bleeds, whenever you kiss me  
  
‘Cause that’s the shit that I like  
  
_For the pre-chorus, Liliver keeps her drums to the rhythm of my words. I need to play my guitar for this song, because Van does the melody so I need to do the rhythm, so I can’t even _do_ anything about all the girls swooning over Cardan below us.  
  
 _Screening my phone calls, like I give a shit  
  
Leather jacket, hair bleached like a cool kid  
  
If you wanted something real, this is as real as it gets  
  
Already hooked you in before the hook began  
  
_There’s a beat of silence before the chorus. I’m left reeling from the pure _strangeness_ of the situation. If you had told 18 year old Jude that in five years she’d have three albums, two tours and be televised at _Reading fucking Festival_ , she would have laugh in your face. She was angry at the world, and her dad, and her scumbag of a boyfriend, and she let it all out by writing music with her three best friends.  
  
Guiltily, I remember how little I’ve talked to Garrett since Cardan joined. I have no clue how his neck is doing, how he’s doing mentally, or anything. Taryn is as vague as can be when I _do_ remember to ask, but I haven’t just thought of _picking up the phone and asking him myself_. To be entirely truthful, I forgot Cardan wasn’t a full member of the band. He’s still just a temp.  
  
 _And they say it’s too personal  
  
It’s good but it will never sell  
  
That’s quite the observation, well  
  
You can take it as it is or not  
  
Cause this is why I’m fucking hot  
  
_The tempo slows for the second verse. Cardan’s fingers moved wickedly along the thick strings of his bass, the now multi-coloured lights dying his pale skin dozens of colours and sparking off the chipped glitter nail polish I put on his nails a couple of days before while we listened to Mother Mother in the hotel room. I had yelled at him for dancing around and smudging it, but I was grinning that widely that he knew I wasn’t mad.  
  
 _Friday night melt downs but buzzcuts are in now  
  
And baby you’re still so fine  
  
Back to the topic, this track is still rockin  
  
And I still got the red light  
  
Hard to describe it but I get excited  
  
When risky business arrives  
  
Too many close calls but I don’t care at all  
  
I’ll never ever die._  
  
We move onto the pre-chorus again, Liliver’s drumming increasing in tempo in a subtle way that’ll have me falling to catch up if I don’t notice it now. It’s a good thing that this is _my_ song, I know my way around it. Trust me. My fingers don’t yet ache from being pressed into harsh metal strings, but it’s a sure thing given how much we’ll be playing tonight. Our sets roughly an hour long, which is shorter than our shows, but we’ll have less time to chat to the crowd in between songs.  
  
The chorus’s tempo is so different from the chorus that it gets the crowd’s attention, if we didn’t have it already.  
  
I wrote the song about the label that wanted to sign us, but only to become a trendy new alt band, with no personality. As if the personality in the music didn’t make it infinitely better. Anyway, we only released one single with them ( **Kill of the Night** ) before we signed with our _current_ label.  
  
The outro has all the instruments slowly fading out one by one, with my voice the last thing that goes.  
  
 _This is why I’m fucking hot  
  
And I’ll never die  
  
I’ll never die, never die  
  
Never die, never die  
  
I’ll never die, never die  
  
_I let the cheers of the crowd engulf me. I wave, and backtrack to Liliver’s drums to grab a water bottle from the perfectly placed cooler. I drink half of it in one gulp. Liliver checks under the fingerless gloves she uses to avoid blisters. She clutches a broken pair of drumsticks in one of her hands.   
  
I raise an eyebrow and say, thankful that my microphone can’t pick up our conversations here. “Seriously? Already? It’s the second song.”  
  
“Go big or go home.” She says back, with a grin.   
  
I swallow the rest of my water like a dying man, before crumpling it up and throwing it down, into the pile of litter – just empty, brandless water bottles – accumulating behind the drum-kit. I feel a brief twinge of sympathy for whoever has to clean up, but it leaves as I remember that it’s either this or singing with sandpaper vocal chords. I don’t feel like the latter would be good for anyone.  
  
I don’t announce the next song, I just let us start playing, waiting for the audience to catch up. If you went onto our Spotify, **Razzmatazz** would be on the top five.  
  
 _Wait_  
  
All instruments stop for a couple beats. When I sing the next line they resume as they were before.   
  
_Don’t hold your breath for goodness sake  
  
Nobody’s home  
  
But you’ve got parliaments filled with parasites  
  
Plus, marquees with your name in lights  
  
A star is born, and thats the trade  
  
For everyone you know  
  
_The slightly jazz-sounding back in track means I don’t have to play as much as I normally would, only playing odd chords here and there when the need arises. I make my way over to Cardan and hook a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at me as I move onto the chorus  
  
 _Let’s go paint the town on our way home  
  
The blinking lights are breaking bones  
  
Cast all your spells and there you have  
  
That good old fashioned razzmatazz  
  
_The song is a criticism of the music industry, another first album angry-at-the-world Jude song. Usually, I’m still angry. Except when I’m on stage. Another exception, apparently, is when Cardan looks at me with his ink-drop eyes, all wicked amusement and mockery, none of which is for me. His mouth curls into a smile. If I had not come to the truly _enlightening_ revelation that he smiles when he’s nervous, I’d think he was making fun of me.   
  
_Oh_  
  
All the instruments pause again, save for the back-in track which sounds like a record player whirring. They all continue when I continue.  
  
 _You broke my heart again  
  
You climbed up on your ivory tower  
  
And you paid off all my friends  
  
And now, well something’s cannot be fixed  
  
With sparkled tongues and politics  
  
In a fascist little paradox  
  
We all become anonymous  
  
_Cardan moves to tilt his head down again, but I clasp my hand around his chin and force him to keep looking me in the eyes. His own eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he _nuzzles into my fucking hand_ like a goddamned cat. I press the pad of my thumb to his bottom lip. I’ve almost entirely forgotten the crowd.  
  
The chorus rocks just as much as it did the first time around. I let my hand fall from Cardan’s face, sure that he’ll stay in place. He does. I hold the microphone equidistant from both of our faces so he can sing the chorus with me, his voice like honey and harmonising perfectly with mine.  
  
There’s a saxophone solo where only Liliver plays, so I interact with the crowd throughout it. “Get fucking dancing, Reading!”  
  
I jump in time with them, yelling words of encouragement.   
  
Once the solo finishes, the chorus is repeated again. The words are echoed back to me, slightly off time, but that’s fine. It’s the thought that counts, right? I can hardly get mad at the crowd for not anticipating physics. My cheeks hurt from grinning so much.  
  
When the song comes to a close, a small robotic voice says “Complete.” And I clap twice to finish the song.  
  
“Who’s ready for **11 Minutes**?”  
  
___  
  
We played our way through our set with ease, occasionally shouting words of encouragement at the crowd and dancing around when I didn’t need to play. My guitar strap is tight across my chest and the guitar itself is hard against my back, but I can’t bring myself to care.  
  
“Our last song for you tonight-” Some people boo. It makes me laugh. “Yeah, I’m sorry but there are other bands that want to play. Our last song for you tonight is **acting like that**.”  
  
Liliver starts with one bar of a strong drum beat, then Van comes in with his melody. When Cardan starts singing, we both come in with our respective rhythm and bass parts. His voice is rough and gravelly from screaming into the microphone during **strawberry lipstick** , which is why we left this song till last, because the gruffness of his voice now suits the bits he sings.  
  
 _Who’s that knocking at four in the morning?  
  
‘Cause it don’t rain but tonight is pouring  
  
Uh, you like it more when I ignore it  
  
And since I left LA got boring_  
  
I dance over to his microphone so I can repeat some of his words after him. Are bodies do that thing where you’re trying to get as close to the microphone as possible, but you still need space to play so our torsos are angled out. It’s uncomfortable, but yelling into the microphone with him is fun and exhilarating and I’ve never felt more alive.  
  
 _Ayyy, I’m back on my bullshit  
  
You’re a Libra I’m a Taurus  
  
Heard you hooked back up with your ex  
  
And now you’re asleep on my doorstep  
  
_Liliver quickly increased the tempo of her drumming. Van played a wicked slide on his guitar as Cardan started yelling the chorus, his eyes alight with an emotional electricity akin to my own.  
  
 _You’re way too hot to be acting like that  
  
Acting like that, acting like that  
  
You’re way too hot to be acting like that  
  
Acting like that, acting like that  
  
I don’t want to talk right now  
  
You’re asleep outside my house  
  
You’re way too hot to be acting like that  
  
Acting like that, acting like that_  
  
I bounce back over to my microphone as the music gives me only a few beats before my verse of the song. My blood is pumping that hard through my veins that I can feel it throbbing in my temples. It is, at once, a horrible, smushy feeling, and a delightful reminder of how amped up I am for this festival.  
 **  
 _I heard that today you got on a plane to another state  
  
I think I’m okay  
  
Never gonna change my mind  
  
Never gonna change my mind  
  
I don’t think today is the last time  
  
That the bright light hits the dark side_**  
  
Cardan’s moving around more than usual – not that I notice, of course. Instead of just staying at his microphone like he normally does, he’s wandering to and fro from Liliver’s drums to the front of the stage. When he has a relieve in the bass line, he’ll wave at the crowd and push his sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. The whole _look_ that he has at the end of shows is quite hot, actually. His eyeliner gets all smudged, and the sleeves of his long tee get stuck to his arms, so he pushes them up to reveal his pale-as-a-ghost forearms.  
 **  
 _I can see that look in your eyes  
  
I can see that look in your eyes, yeah  
  
Now I can’t sleep, I’m all alone  
  
And what we reaped, is what we’ve sown  
  
But can we meet somewhere in the middle?_** _  
  
_Me and Cardan sing the chorus together, the playing of both our guitars rendering unable to play any of our usual little games. It’s rather frustrating. I get through it by staring at the way the sweat on his forehead gleams in the blue lights and paints him like a fairy at the bottom of the garden. But a horrible, wicked fairy with a mouth full of cruel words, and a face to match. My step-mom had been super into those kind of fairies – no, faeries. She always used to yell at me if I said _fairies_ with an _I_.  
  
The bridge goes like this: us singing alternate lines while making eye contact so intense that I’m honestly surprised one of us doesn’t set on fire, or get acid burns, or internally combust or _something_.   
  
**_I’m going out my head  
  
_** _I fell in love again  
  
 **I know that you’ll regret me in the morning  
  
** When you’re gone again  
  
Yeah  
  
_We jump into the chorus one last time. My voice scratches on the end of the lines, which makes me both thankful and, still, sorry the shows coming to a close. When the song finally pitters out, we all take off our instruments and Liliver stands up. We bow once. Cardan and I leave with a royal wave, his arm around my waist and our guitars in hand, all to the roar of the crowd chanting our lyrics back at us. What a time to be fucking alive, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha this is why i'm hot go brrrrrrr


	20. Glasgow, Scotland (Cardan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Maniac by Conan Gray   
> theres a playlist for this fic on my spotify (a.slingo)
> 
> i think im going to start writing a jurdan renegades au. stay tuned for that fuckers
> 
> also smut soon I think???? It's coming. oh lord it coming

Jude’s fingers drum incessantly against the glass table, waiting for FaceTime to connect. The rhythm is slightly off, because she’s trying to use her pinkies and the missing digit on her left hand means she misses notes.   
  
I have a massive urge to hold her hands, if only to stop the noise.   
  
Taryn’s face appears on the laptop screen. Beside her is a sandy-haired guy who, really, looks remarkably average. Now, that sounds rude but, truly, I expected something more. Van is short and squat but his hair is dyed green, and he has tattoos circling his biceps. Liliver has her long bleached white braids and a love for fingerless gloves. Jude has the whole _look-at-me-and-I’ll-kill-you_ look going on. This guy – Garrett, I’m assuming – has none of that. He’s a quiet looking man, pale and inoffensive to the eye. He has no tattoos or piercings, there’s nothing to suggest that he’d be in a largely popular punk band.   
  
He taps two fingers against his forehead in some kind of a mock salute. Jude copies the gesture. She says, “I didn’t know you would be joining us. Taryn said you couldn’t get up.”  
  
She sends a frosty glare at her twin. If there wasn’t a screen and an ocean between them, Taryn would’ve turned into a block of ice. As it is, I’m mildly surprised to see the laptop still intact and un-frozen.  
  
Garrett grimaces and rubs the back of his neck gingerly, “It’s difficult.”  
  
“You didn’t have to get up if you weren’t ready.”  
  
“No, its fine.” Garrett’s eyes flick over to me. “I wanted to meet my replacement.”  
  
 _Replacement_. I take a sort of feral joy in the word. The band is at its most popular at this moment in time, and the media are attributing it to mine and Jude’s relationship, and therefore _me._ Still, I’m not his replacement. After this tour, I reckon Jude and I will stage an elaborate, public breakup and go our separate ways. I’m still a temp, after all.  
  
“Replacement?” Jude asks. She tilts her head to the side. “Cardan’s just here for the tour.”  
  
“Ouch.” I say with no emotion. “Tell me how you really feel.”  
  
She puts her hand of my knee and squeezes reassuringly. It does little to make me feel better, but that’s because I’m not upset. I swear. I always knew that I was going off to a separate job after this tour, and nothing’s going to change that.   
  
“I know that that’s how it _was_.”  
  
Jude’s head cocks to the side even more. If she’s not careful, her entire head will just fall off.  
  
“What Garrett is _trying_ to say,” Taryn interjects. “is that he’s resigning, if Cardan’s okay with taking over and becoming a full-fledged member.”  
  
There’s a beat of palpable silence. And then another. And then another.  
  
I don’t know what to make of this situation, to be entirely honest. I mean, I’d _like_ to stay in the band, obviously. It would mean I wouldn’t have to break up with Jude. But... actually, no, there aren’t any downsides to this plan. I get a band, and my girlfriend, and I don’t have to search for another job in a couple of weeks.  
  
Jude squeezes my knee harder. I put one of my hands on top of hers where it rests on the denim of my jeans. My thumb rubs smoothing circles onto the back of her hand.   
  
Liliver asks, “What?”  
  
Garrett purses his lips, but doesn’t look guilty. If anything, he looks a mixture of defensive and relieved. “We talked to the doctor. She says its unsafe for me to continue playing, based on the weight of the bass and where I hurt my neck.”  
  
Jude says, “Jesus Christ, Gar, why didn’t you tell us earlier?”  
  
“I didn’t want to worry you.” But there’s a look in his eyes that says something different. I zero in on his expression.  
  
“How long have you known?” I ask, speaking to him for the first time.  
  
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “She wasn’t sure, but thought I’d be unable to play since I actually broke my neck. She’s just been waiting it out, to see if I’d heal.”  
  
Jude’s concerned expression turns to anger. “And you didn’t tell us? You know I don’t appreciate people keeping things from me.”  
  
Taryn speaks before Garrett can. “This is why he didn’t tell you! Stop being selfish, Jude.”  
  
Jude barks out a laugh completely devoid of all emotion. “I’m the selfish one? Pray tell, _Taryn_ ,” She spits her twin’s name like its acid. “was I the selfish one when you nearly _married_ my ex-boyfriend _while_ we were dating.”  
  
Jude’s told me that the whole Locke thing doesn’t faze her anymore. I’m inclined to agree with her. There isn’t any emotion in the question. I think she just says it to watch Taryn squirm, and squirm she does.  
  
“I’ve told you I was _sorry_ -”  
  
“Was I the selfish one when I had to fight for a place by dad’s side, while you just breezed in next to him, perfectly content with being the ditzy little daughter?”  
  
Taryn flinches against Garrett’s chest. This whole thing is rather entertaining, and from the look on Lili and Van’s faces, it isn’t the first time this little cat fight has happened. Actually, calling it a _cat fight_ would insinuate Taryn’s doing anything to defend herself. It’s more like Jude is the grizzled cat cornering a small kitten in a darkened alleyway. As I said before, entertaining. Jude’s got this _wonderful_ spark of rage in her eyes. It’s delicious.  
  
“Was I the selfish one when you took dad’s side and kicked me out of the fucking house, Taryn?” her venom-laced words seem to hit home. Taryn shrinks in on herself.  
  
This is the first Jude’s mentioned of her father figure, aside from the basics. Her dad was some big shot Olympian fencer that had adopted them after their biological parents died, and he wanted both daughters to fall in his footsteps and become fencers. It had made all the tabloids when he kicked her out for wanting to pursue music. From the sounds of it, their dad had let Taryn billow on without a care in the world.  
  
“Was I the selfish one when you decided to quit your job and become our fucking PR manager in an attempt to _reconciliate_?”  
  
“Jude-”  
  
“This video chat is over. I’ll talk to you later, Garrett.” And with that, she leans forward and clicks out of the call.   
  
We’re all silent for a moment. I can see in her face that she probably doesn’t want to talk about it, so I say, “When’s sound check? I want to look around the city before, if you want to come with.”  
  
She gives me a grateful half-smile, “We have an hour or two free. Let me get my shoes.”  
  
___  
  
“Let me hear you fucking scream!”  
  
The wall of sound coming from the crowd is almost deafening. I don’t know what I expected, honestly. Put a bunch of angry, punk Scottish people and you’re bound to burst your eardrums.   
  
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jude yells, her whole facing lighting up in a smile. I can’t help but smile too.   
  
She strides around stage, her combat boots heavy on the floor. With her microphone to her mouth, and her hair in its long ponytail, she reminds me of a cheerleader. A cheerleader who wears tight, black denim skirts, mesh tops and fishnet tights.  
  
“This next song is called **Maniac**.”  
  
 _You were with your friends, partyin’  
  
When the alcohol kicked in  
  
Said you wanted me dead  
  
So you show up at my home, all alone  
  
With a shovel and a rose  
  
Do you think I’m a joke?  
  
_This song was from before their first album, before Garrett and Van joined Lili and Jude in making noise in her bedroom, according to the girls. This means that neither Jude nor I _have_ to play. We made up a simple bass line that I’m following along, but Jude’s impressively spray painted guitar is swung over her back, and she’s walking along the stage, singing into her microphone. She’s coming toward me, her grin feral and completely beautiful.  
  
 _‘Cause people like you always want back what they can’t have  
  
But I’m past that and you know that  
  
So you should turn back to your rat pack tell ‘em I’m trash  
  
_I really don’t need to pay this much attention to the bass line. It’s not a difficult thing, but I just can’t seem to look her in the eye without my cheeks becoming embarrassingly warm. She’s stopped right in front of me. I still don’t look up. She runs a finger across my neck, across my jugular, stopping to tug at a piece of my hair. I school my face into one of familiar arrogance and look up at her with a raised eyebrow.  
  
 _Tell all your friends that I’m crazy and drive you mad  
  
That I’m such a stalker, a watcher, a psychopath  
  
And tell that you hate me and dated me just for laughs  
  
So, why do you call me and tell me you want me back?  
  
You maniac_  
  
Something is hurled onto the stage at practically bruising velocity. Jude steps away to pick it up. She interrupts the song with one long peal of laughter. In her hand she holds a circle of tacky gold plastic, inlaid with tacky fake jewels. I laugh incredulously at the crown she holds, but the microphone is too far away for it to be picked up. Jude places it on her head. It doesn’t quite work, the crown squishing down her ponytail, but the overall look is achieved. Even if her crown is shitty plastic from Spirit Halloween, she’s a queen.  
  
 _You just went too far  
  
Wrecked your car, called me crying in the dark  
  
Now you’re breaking my heart  
  
So, I show up at your place right away  
  
Wipe the tears off of your face  
  
While you beg me to stay_  
  
She’s back by me, but behind me this time. One of her hands darts out to grip my hip, where the bass covers her touch and the cameras can’t pick up on it. I’m suddenly glad for the microphone being too far away to pick up on the hitch in my breath as she massages little circles onto my hipbone with her thumb. She surely did, if the laughter in the second pre-chorus was anything go by.  
  
 _Well, people like you always want back what they can’t have  
  
But I’m past that and you know that  
  
So you should back to your rat pack tell ‘em I’m trash_  
  
I swallow down the feeling building in my throat, keeping my eyes fixed on the neck of my bass, as if Jude isn’t doing something oddly sexual with her thumb and my hipbone. I can feel her chest pressed again my back, her warmth bleeding through my thin shirt, her own erratic heartbeat matching mine. If anyone has noticed Jude staying too close to me for too long, they don’t make a point of saying anything. Of course, they can’t say anything because we’re in the middle of a song, but that’s hardly the point.  
  
 _Tell all of your friends that I’m crazy and drive you mad  
  
That I’m such a stalker, a watcher, a psychopath  
  
And tell them you hate me and dated me just for laughs  
  
So, why do you call me and tell me you want me back?  
  
You maniac_  
  
She’s gone then, and my back feels cold without her presence. I continue to play, convincing myself not to look up. I don’t want my burning cheeks giving anything away. It’s always rather noticeable when I blush, because my skins so pale. I made a joke about that once, to Balekin, and he very seriously told me that our entire family had skin as pale as we do because we were related to long-dead faerie royalty. I never made a joke about it to him again, lest I get subjected to a boring fucking lecture about made up creatures.  
  
_Psychopathic, don’t be so dramatic  
  
We had magic, but you made it tragic  
  
No you’re manic, honestly I’ve had it  
  
Listen to yourself, think you need to get some help  
  
_She skips back toward –fucking _skips_ like some kind of third grader – and grins at me quickly. It’s a smile reminiscent of my own, curling and wicked and decidedly not _her_. She’s more scowls and mysterious silences. She takes the gaudy plastic crown off her head and places it gently on mine. I don’t know whether or not to be offended. On one hand, if I were to actually wear a crown, it would be solid gold and it would _not_ look like it came from Party City. On the other hand, it’s kind of sweet that she’s giving it to me.  
 _  
Tell all your friends that I’m crazy and drive you mad  
  
That I’m such a stalker, a watcher, a psychopath  
  
And tell them you hated me and dated me just for laughs  
  
So why do you call me and tell me that you want me?  
  
You maniac_  
  
The song mellows out while the post-chorus echoes around the stadium. I grin as the audience cheers for us and retreat the conveniently placed cooler near the foot of Liliver’s drum kit. I grab a water bottle and chug it. I’m about to discard the now-empty bottle but I catch sight of myself in the glossy shine of the snare drum. The crown suits me, I have to say. I drop the water bottle and reach up to carefully tilt the crown to the side. Perfect.


	21. Cardiff, Wales (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EXPLICIT WARNING-  
> they fucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song - LA Devotee by Panic! at the Disco (all songs can be found on my spotify, which is a.slingo
> 
> this chapter is tagged for explicit sexual content. sorry it took so long to get out, I just get so embarrassed writing straight smut. like. why is there a guy there. thats why oral is involved. that's all I know how to do. I've only ever had sex with girls what is the guy doing in there. ANYWAY-
> 
> the sex is kinda vanilla. I didn't want to get too kinky because it's Jude's first time, and for that reason I also tried to make it a bit awkward and inexperienced

Tonight, for the first time, I’m more excited for the after-party than the show itself. This is probably because the _after-party_ consists of me swallowing down probably half a bottle of liquid courage and going into our room with Cardan only, while Liliver and Van stay drinking at the hotel bar.  
  
The only reason this didn’t happen in Glasgow, is because Liliver stopped us before we could get to our room and said (and I quote) “I’m really fucking tired, so you two are going two aren’t fucking tonight, got it? If I hear one goddamn peep from either you, I’m going to set you on fire.”  
  
She had then stomped off, leaving me red-faced and Cardan cackling. We were both determined to piss her off anyway, but Cardan saw that they put Mean Girls on Netflix, so we watched that instead.  
  
So when the counter hits zero and we file on stage, my mind is preoccupied. I have two thoughts, and they narrow down to Cardan’s hands and Cardan’s mouth.  
  
“Hello, Cardiff!” I yell once I’m in place, “I am the Queen of Shadows, and this is my court.”  
  
People holler. I let them go on for a second, before holding a hand for silence. People quieten immediately. The power of that move, of every single one of them stopping their cheering just because I told them to, goes straight to my head. “We have checked the polls so nicely voted on by you, and, by your decree, the first song for tonight is **LA Devotee**.”  
  
Liliver kicks in with her drums in a simple sounding beat that’s actually really difficult to do. (Don’t ask – we all tried each other’s instruments out once. If you’re wondering, Van is a really bad singer). The other instruments come in when I start singing.  
  
 _You got two black eyes from loving too hard  
  
And a black heart that matches your blackest soul  
  
I wouldn’t change ya, oh oh  
  
Wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no  
  
_Somehow someone in the crowd is managing to disperse glowsticks, and soon most of the mosh pit have them on their heads, or around their necks or swinging from their rest. It’s a goddamn neon clusterfuck. I signal to someone in the crowd, and they throw one up to me. I wink at them and then wrap the pliant, horribly pink glowstick around the head of my guitar.  
  
 _The neon coast was your sign  
  
And the Midwest wind with Pisces rising  
  
Wouldn’t change ya, oh oh  
  
Wouldn’t ever try to make you leave, no  
  
_Cardan has moved away from his microphone. He crouches by the edge of the stage, still playing, while security allows one person to reach up and place a glow stick around his neck in an almost reverent fashion. I swallow down the jealousy. It’s a dumb, stupid emotion, jealousy, born from insecurity. I don’t have it. Insecurity, that is. Or jealousy. The only reason the guy is looking at Cardan like that is because a) Cardan is very hot, and b) Cardan is famous.  
  
 _Static palms melt your vibe  
  
Midnight whisperings  
  
_Liliver does a fill, slowly getting quieter, just so that the first bang on the drums for the chorus will be that much louder. The chorus is the most vocally straining of _all_ of our songs, which makes me ever so slightly resent the audience for making me sing it.   
  
_Black magic of Mulholland drive  
  
Swimming pools under dessert skies  
  
Drinking white wine in the blushing light  
  
Just another LA devotee  
  
_I meet Cardan’s eye and make the best _come hither_ gesture I can while singing and playing. He does so, but so slowly I can feel his every step grinding into my chest. I scowl at him and he grins, picking up the pace ever so slightly.  
  
 _Sunset on the evil eye  
  
Invisible to the Hollywood shine  
  
Always on the hunt for a little more time  
  
Just another LA devotee  
  
_Cardan stops a foot away, playing calmly, as if I’m not visibly trying to shoot daggers at him with my eyes. He keeps his head bowed, but I’m sure he knows how much I’m glaring at him. I’ve been told many a time that my glares aren’t easy to miss.  
  
 _Just another, just another oh oh  
  
Just another, just another oh oh_

 _  
just another, just another oh oh  
  
Just another LA devotee  
  
_Cardan takes the two steps necessary for him to come practically face to face with me. I expect him to say something that wouldn’t be picked up by the microphone. Instead, though, he just looks at me wickedly and _slides to his knees_.  
  
 _You got bleached out eyes from the valley sand  
  
And the black tar palms keep weeping your name  
  
I couldn’t change ya, oh oh  
  
Couldn’t ever try to make you see, no  
  
_The thrum that goes through my body makes me curl my toes in my boots. The motion was so fluid, the way he dropped to his knees before me so natural and effortless. I want to smother his mouth with mine. I want to make him beg. I want to wipe that wicked grin right off his wicked face. People are screaming so loudly it hurts my ears, but I don’t hear them, not really.   
  
_The high rise lights read your rights  
  
And a downtown storm with Aries rising  
  
Couldn’t change ya, oh oh  
  
Couldn’t ever try to make you see, no  
  
_I move my boot forward so it rests on his knee. No quite an innocent gesture, but close enough. His eyes don’t leave mine. My entire body is turned towards his, but I’m also trying to sing and play my chords, so it’s a difficult task and my back hurts.  
  
I run through the pre-chorus and chorus again while staring down Cardan. He never loses that glint in his eye, the one that I know will cause trouble. And that trouble, I think, will be exclusively for me. The background lights play havoc on his face, casting him as an angel and a demon and everything in between.   
  
I repeat the refrain and press my boot down on Cardan’s leg, hitching it slightly higher so I can rest my weight on his thigh. He accommodates this change by moving his bass higher up, almost in _invitation._ He leans back a bit too and supports his weight on the back of his heels.   
  
There’s a bridge where the music is all mellow and I don’t need to play. I let my fingers pull off the strings, ignoring the lines already starting to form there, and unhook my microphone. I sing the bridge while tracing Cardan’s jawline with a single finger.  
  
 _LA devotee  
  
LA devotee  
  
LA devotee  
  
LA devotee_  
  
By the time I hit the high note at the end of the last line, I’ve straightened up and I have my fingers back on the right chord and the microphone is back in its stand. I keep my foot on Cardan’s thigh, but face toward the audience and continue to play through the last chorus, as if he wasn’t worth my time.  
  
The song finishes and I raise a hand to the crowd, and then turn to Cardan. He’s still kneeling, but his hands have dropped to his sides now he’s got no bass part to play. His eyes are trained on my lips.   
  
I offer him a hand and haul him to his feet while the crowd cheers.   
  
___  
  
We manage to act as inconspicuously as possible until we get back to our room. If the sly wink Van gave me before left is anything to by, we didn’t act inconspicuously enough.  
  
Cardan takes his sweet, _sweet_ time meandering about our hotel room. He sheds his t-shirt, exposing his pale chest - with the snake slithering up his side and the faint white scars littering his back – and saunters over to the mini-bar. He cracks open a can of Sprite and chugs it all in one go, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. All while I stand stiff as a board by the door. Glancing over at me, he smirks and practically _glides_ over to where I’m standing.  
  
He takes one look at my face, and asks, “You sure?”  
  
I huff out something like a laugh, “Do you really think I’d be here if I wasn’t?”  
  
“I don’t know.” He says plainly, “You’re rather difficult to read sometimes. It’s probably because you show all emotions by glowering.”  
  
Huh. That’s news to me. I thought I wore my affections for Cardan too freely on my sleeve. “All that embarrassment over showing emotion in public for _nothing_.”  
  
“What will become of your reputation?” He purrs. The sound shakes me to my core, well and truly, and makes molten heat pool in my stomach.  
  
I bring one handle up to cradle his face. He turns into the touch, letting his eyes close. I can feel it when he gulps. It’s a quick movement, but it’s definitely _there_ and that just makes me more confident. With my other hand, I take his and press it to my chest, just above my left breast, so he can feel my heart pounding.   
  
“Ready?” He asks, and the vibrations of his voice buzz against my palm.  
  
“Whenever you are.”  
  
He surges forward to kiss me, all teeth and tongue, and his mouth tastes like Sprite and bourbon and he’s so completely _intoxicating_ that I don’t notice that he’s knocked my hand off of my chest, so now only his hand rests there, dragging lazy circles onto my skin.   
  
He tugs at the collar of my dress. “As much as I think this dress looks lovely on you,” he says once our mouths have broken apart. “It is rather hindering the view.”  
  
“The view.”  
  
I can practically hear him roll his eyes, “You’re the view, Jude.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“That’s right, oh.” His other hand finds the hem of my dress and hitches it so it barely covers my underwear. I let out a tiny gasp, nerves fluttering incessantly in my belly. I lift my hands over my head so he can slide me out of it. I swallow down any surviving nerves. _This is nothing,_ I tell myself. _He’s seen me in less. We sleep in the same bed_.  
  
He runs his hands down my sides. If I had to settle on an adjective to describe his expression right now, I’d choose _reverent_. He looks at me as if I’m some new divinity he’s discovered, a goddess made just for him. No one’s ever looked at me that way before. It makes my heart soar.  
  
My breathings heavy, and it’s even more noticeable now there’s nothing but my bra covering my chest. Cardan moves his hand over to my collarbone, tracing the small tattoo of a crown resting there. He leans in and _licks_ a column up my neck with the flat of his tongue.  
  
I shudder. He smiles against my neck, exposing his teeth dangerously close to my jugular. When I breathe my chest presses against his. He continues to kiss up my neck, sucking what is sure to be a myriad of truly impressive hickies onto the base of my neck.  
  
“Cardan-” I groan as he sheers his teeth along my jaw line.  
  
I grab the hair at the nape of his neck and drag his head up until he meets my lips with his. I swipe my tongue along his bottom lip and he immediately opens up for me. His lips are sticky from chugging that Sprite earlier.   
  
We move toward the bed while still kissing. I kick my shoes off and nearly fall over, but he has a vice-like grip on my waist that prevents me from tumbling head-first onto the sharp corner of the table. As it is, my back just pokes into it.   
  
I pull away from him. He makes a whining noise in protest. “I don’t like being the only naked one right now.”  
  
He smirks. It’s infuriating. It’s hot. It’s infuriatingly hot. I take advantage of his distraction to push him onto the bed. He falls and looks up at me, surprised.   
  
I go for his belt buckle, but look up at him for – I don’t know – reassurance? Not in the way of _I’m not sure I can do this_ , but more in the way of _are you sure this okay?_ He nods at me, so I undo his belt and start pulling his jeans down.  
  
My hearts hammering in my chest, for some fucking reason. I’ve seen him naked before. He’s not exactly what I’d call shy. But this is something new, something entirely _different._ I’m man enough to say that it scares me.  
  
He seems to sense my nerves, because he gently takes me hands away and removes his shoes, socks and pants by himself. I bite my lip when I see how much he is clearly affected by this situation. I crawl onto the mattress on top of him, caging his body inside my own, with my knees spread over his thighs and my elbows either side of his head. I keep my face above his so he has to lean up to kiss me, which he does. _A lot._  
  
He distracts me with a kiss, and then he rolls us over so he’s the one on top. Instead of caging me in, he gently straddles my waist. I can feel his hard length laying on my stomach.   
  
I groan when he doesn’t lean over. Flatly, I say, “Oh no, I seem to have damaged my neck singing today.”  
  
“Oh really.” He grinds his hips down to meet mine and I gasp. I smack a hand over my own mouth to stifle the sound. He lifts it from my face. “I want to be able to hear you, darling.”  
  
I groan again, “I can’t believe you’re going to deprive me of my kisses just because I hurt my neck performing in _our_ band. You are a cruel and unjust boyfriend.”  
  
He rolls his eyes but indulgently leans over so I can assault his mouth with mine. It isn’t one long kiss, it’s a bunch of little pecks – on either side of his mouth, on his lips, on the tip of his nose, on both of his eyelids.  
  
He straightens up again. I’m about to complain when he starts to swing his leg over so he’s moving off of me. I’m _definitely_ about to complain when he stands up and stretches. I sit up on my elbows, but then he’s kneeling on the floor and spreading my legs, gripping my thighs and _oh-_  
  
“Is this okay?”  
  
It’s _more_ than okay, if he’s going to do what I think he is. “Yeah.”  
  
My voice sounds breathy even to my own ears. He grins, wide and wicked before leaning in to take the band of my panties between is fucking _teeth_. He starts to shimmy them down my thighs. He gets to my knees before giving up and yanking them off with his hands.  
  
He presses his lips to my thigh, inches away from where I want him. My hands scrabble around as he presses softer kisses to the inside of my thigh. My stomach clenches. Eventually my hands land in his hair, tugging. He seems to get the message.  
  
His mouth is on me then, soft and wet and open like he’s eating a fucking _peach_ and-  
  
His tongue curls around my clit and I almost scream from pleasure. My hands tighten in his hair and he groans against me. The vibrations send shockwaves spiralling through my core. It comes to my attention that I’m making _a lot_ of noise, but I can’t bring myself to care.  
  
“Jesus- fuck, Cardan!” I moan, putting pressure on the back of his skull to get him even closer, even though that should be impossible. Apparently, it wasn’t impossible, because his tongue slid into my slick hole with ease. I moan and wrap my legs around his back to stop him escaping – not that I think he will.  
  
My orgasm hits me like a truck. My stomach clenches and flutters. My vision white-outs while pure pleasure channels through my body. Cardan works me through it, still sucking at my clit. I lose my grip on his hair and he lifts his head. He’s panting slightly and his lips are shiny. The sight makes me moan.  
  
I use my feet to snap at the elastic of his boxer briefs and raise an eyebrow at him. He grins roguishly and then surges forward to kiss me. The position is awkward, but I can feel him press, hard and wanting, into me. He moans against my lips as I roll my hips up to meet his.   
  
My tongue swipes around his mouth, which no longer tastes of Sprite and bourbon, but now tastes like _me._  
  
He pulls away, “Can I fuck you?”  
  
“Yes – fucking hell, yes.”  
  
He scrambles to pull of his underwear. When he looks up, he swallows. It’s a quick movement, but it comforts me – he’s as nervous as I am for this.  
  
Trying to get myself more comfortable on the mattress, I squirm beneath him. He blows out a breath that makes goosebumps erupt on the skin of my belly. He taps my ankle and says, “I need to get out.”  
  
I unlock my ankles and let him out. “Why?”  
  
He rolls his eyes, reaching over to the nightstand, “Condoms, Jude.”  
  
I flush pink. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”  
  
When he smiles, its genuine and it makes my heart warm. I hate how much I love him, which is stupid really. It’s not his fault that I like him so much. I should really hate myself. But can I? To be truthful, I don’t think it’s wrong that I _do_ feel the way I do.  
  
The sound of a wrapper being torn open wakes me from my reverie. When I look at him, Cardan’s rolling the condom onto his dick and then repositioning himself inbetween my legs.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
I feel his tip pressing against my entrance. The anticipation is killing me. “Just do it.”  
  
I know it’s going to hurt like a bitch. I’m a virgin. It shouldn’t surprise me that it hurts. But it still does. It’s not like a sharp pain, just an aching stretch as he pushes himself in. He holds one of my hands. He pushes all the way in but doesn’t move, letting me adjust to his length. Once I finally feel like I’m adjusted well enough, I say, “You can move now.”  
  
His first thrust is slow. He pulls nearly all the way out, before pumping back into me slowly. The tip of his cock brush against something inside me that sends stars shooting up my spine.  
  
“ _Fuck_!” I moan, “Do that again.”  
  
He does, quickening the pace until he’s slamming into me with almost brutal force, hitting that spot every time. Pleasure builds slow in the pit of my stomach.  
  
The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, accompanied by my moans and Cardan’s grunts every time he slams into me.  
  
I orgasm again, my nails clawing red marks down his arms and my thighs clenching around his body. He fucks me through it, until I’m boneless and blessed out. With a few final, short thrusts, he finishes as well.   
  
The room is quiet. Cardan pulls out, takes the condom off, knots it and throws it in the trash. He lies next to me, pressing his face into my neck and breathing heavily against my skin.   
  
“Go team.” I say softly, jokingly.   
  
He chuckles and presses his lips to the base of my throat. “I love you.” He says, like he’s afraid of the words.  
  
I turn my entire body so I’m facing him. I kiss his forehead and say, “I love you too.”


	22. Sydney, Australia (Cardan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> talk show and the demon known as Locke (only mentioned dw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song for this chapter is Alphabet Boy by Melanie Martinez. As always, all the songs in this fic can be found by searching my spotify username, a.slingo.

“Stay still, please.” The make-up artist in front of me dabs powder onto my cheeks. I try to keep as still as possible, but I’m _tired._ Flying everywhere has thoroughly fucked up my sleep scheduled. I think I might incorporate eye bags into my brand so I can stop spending so much money on concealer.   
  
Jude’s hand finds me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sitting straight and looking forward while a blonde lady touches up her eyeliner.   
  
Eventually the makeup artists are done. I turn in my chair toward Jude. “I still can’t believe _you_ do interviews.”  
  
A small frown tugs at the corner of her lips. “I’m the front person of the band.”  
  
“But you’re so... anti-social.” I smile, “You have this expression that says _if you even look at me I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself_.”  
  
She shrugs. “Why do you look like you like that expression?”  
  
“I don’t have any other expressions to go off.”  
  
“Hey!” She jabs my ribs with a well aimed elbow. “I have other expressions.”  
  
Completely sombre, I say, “Jude, I regret to inform you that you _literally_ have only one facial expression. S’cute though.”  
  
Her foundation obscures the blush that has surely crept onto her cheeks, but I can still see the tips of her ears turn pink. She grumbles, “Shut up.”  
  
Someone raps on the door. We both turn toward the sound, and an assistant pops their head round the corner. “It’s your time.”  
  
We both get out of our chairs and follow the assistant toward the wings. The host, a kindly looking woman named Kathy, is announcing our presence. The audience claps and cheers, which is our cue to come on stage. Kathy is out of her chair and clapping with the crowd. She gestures for us to sit on the sofa, which we do.   
  
I sit closer to Jude than is necessary, but we both agreed beforehand that the audience would like it. Also, I want to sit next to Jude.   
  
Kathy sits back behind her big, wooden desk and smiles genially at us, “Hi there! Welcome to the show.”  
  
“Glad to be here.” I say, and she grins even wider.   
  
“Now, the one big question my watchers have is,” She pauses dramatically, “Why don’t you air your names to the public?”  
  
I incline my head toward Jude, who is more fitted to answer the question, since it was her decision.  
  
She purses her lips slightly, “Well... it was a matter, I think, of just wanting to be anonymous at first. We didn’t want our families or our past to sway our standing in the music world, y’know?”  
  
Kathy nods like that makes sense, which it does, to me. I don’t particularly think Kathy can relate though, because I know for a fact that she let her billionaire mother fund her talk show. Not that I’m judging her, of course. “Is your continued anonymity a result of that, or is it something else entirely?”  
  
Jude shrugs, “We don’t try hard to disguise our identities, we just don’t flash them around.”  
  
I can see the tense set of her shoulders, her heavy breathing, and decide to rescue her – not that she needs it. I can just tell she doesn’t like this line of questioning. I nudge her foot with mine and shoot a smile at Kathy, “I have to say, I was pretty surprised when we heard that you wanted _us_ on your show.”  
  
Kathy raises her eyebrows and leans forward, her attention successfully diverted from our identities. “Oh?”  
  
“Yeah, I would’ve thought us to be a little... mysterious, for your tastes. From what I’ve seen of the show, you like guests that have a lot of information and scandals.”  
  
Kathy lets out a strained laugh. “I don’t think you’d be wrong on that front.”  
  
Jude’s body tenses again. When she speaks, the hostility in her tone is palpable. “So what have you _really_ brought us on to discuss?”  
  
Kathy pauses for almost a full second, teeth gritted. Then she plasters her fake smile back onto her face. “I actually wanted to talk to you both about Locke. I was _trying_ to do it more tactfully.”  
  
Jude’s hand finds mine on the couch and squeezes. Hard. I squeeze back, just to let her know that I’m here.   
  
I keep my voice dripping in carefully curated boredom, the kind that makes the receiver feel as though they’re four inches tall. “What about him?”  
  
“Well, about both of your relationships with him, of course.” Kathy says, shrinking back very slightly, fake smile broad and white. “The Queen’s past romantic relationship, and your past friendship.”  
  
Jude snorts. “I didn’t come on your show to dish about my bitch of an ex-boyfriend, Kathy. Any information you want or need is in the tabloids already.”  
  
Apparently, she thought that the revelation that Locke and I used to be _buddies_ was a big thing, because she looks surprised at Jude’s reaction.  
  
“Yeah,” I say snidely, “I’m pretty sure all the _deats_ are in the papers. Maybe if you scroll back, what, three years or so you’ll find them.”  
  
I remember what Taryn said to us before we came here: _Please don’t antagonize anyone, it’ll be a mess to clean up_. I almost feel sorry for her, because of the amount of work she’s going to have. Almost being the key word.   
  
Kathy laughs, in an attempt to diffuse the tension. The audience joins in. Jude relaxes against my side. Kathy says, “So, with that little bit over and done with, lets discuss your music.”  
  
“I’m more than happy to.”  
  
Kathy pulls an iPad out from under her desk and swipes across it a few times. The screen behind us shows a twitter feed. “Now, I have some questions from both your fans and mine. The first one is coming in from @theroach_ison_fire. They say “I love all the album names, but they’re all so long! Why is that?””  
  
Kathy looks at us expectantly. I shrug and let Jude take the question. I wasn’t even a member of the band at that point.  
  
“We thought it would be fun.” Jude says plainly. “Only one of our songs has a long name-”  
  
“ **I Threw Glass At My Friend’s Eye and Now I’m On Probation**.” Kathy supplies for the audience.  
  
Jude nods, “Yeah. The rest of the songs are, like, four words maximum, so we thought we’d make up for that with super long album names.”  
  
“A quick quiz for the audience!” Kathy says once Jude has finished talking. She smiles broadly at the audience, which is made up of middle-aged women exclusively, some with their teenage daughters or husbands. “On the tablets by your seats, vote for which one of these four options you think is _not_ a Court of Shadows album name.”  
  
Everyone takes out their tablets and starts voting. I look at the screen behind us. The twitter dashboard has been replaced with four options:  
  
 ** _A:_** _Exploding the Palace of Versailles!  
  
 **B:** The Queen Has Blood Under Her Nails  
  
 **C:** Hope Is A Dangerous Thing For A Woman To Have  
  
 **D:** There Were Roaches In My Apartment, So I Set It On Fire  
_  
I wait patiently. Obviously, I know that C is the false one here. I mean, I’m in the band; it would be pretty embarrassing if I didn’t.  
  
“Time’s up!” Kathy declares. The screen now shows the results of the poll. “My Queen, would you care to tell everyone the answer?”  
  
Jude looks at the board and says, “C is the wrong one. I’m pretty sure that’s a Lana Del Ray song as well.”

___  
  
Jude kicks the microphone stand until it’s at the right height.   
  
Something behind us clatters and Liliver’s voice says “oops.”  
  
I turn to see her picking up a cymbal and carefully putting it back in place.  
  
Jude kicks the microphone stand again, sending it toppling over. “Fucking hell-”  
  
“Woah.” Liliver says, “What did the mike stand ever do to you?”  
  
Jude hunches her shoulders as she rights the stand. We’re at rehearsal, but there isn’t a real rush. We all know the songs. Eventually, she sighs. “The stand did nothing. That _bitch_ Kathy McPhearson, however...”  
  
Liliver pulls a face. “I didn’t watch it. Was it bad?”  
  
I turn to her. “She brought up Locke.”  
  
Liliver raises her eyebrows and sucks at her teeth. It’s a look of admonishment and there’s anger behind her eyes. She sets her jaw. “I’ll kill her if you like.”  
  
Van walks on stage, holding an amp that’s nearly as big as his short little body. “Who are we murdering?”  
  
“Kathy.” I tell him.  
  
“If I wanted her dead, I would’ve already killed her.” Jude snaps. “But, anyway, I was fooling around with some new lyrics. I want to try this out.”  
  
She hands us all sheets of paper with our individual parts. Frowning, I pick up my bass, set the music on a stand and quickly run through the bass riff. “Like that?”  
  
“Yeah. Great. Thanks.”  
  
She looks relieved that we aren’t questioning her. I run over the riff a few more times, trying to cement it into my brain.  
  
Offhandedly, she says, “I was thinking we could put it on the fourth album, if you’re all ok with that.”  
  
“We’ll see.” Liliver says cheekily, then frowns, “You want me on back-in vocals?”  
  
“They need to be feminine. Cardan can’t exactly pull off feminine.”  
  
“Well, _excuse you_.” I say, putting a hand to me chest in mock offense, “I’ll have you know I can pull off feminine very well, thank you very much!”  
  
She smiles for the first time since we got back from Kathy’s show, and swats me on the arm playfully. “You look wonderful in a dress, but you know that that isn’t what I was talking about.”  
  
I nod and concede, playing about with the riff a little. I play through the entire song, once, twice and then a third time with everyone else joining in, but with no vocals.   
  
“Vocals this time?” Jude asks, and we all nod.  
  
I start with the bass line, which kind of sounds like a wind-up toy being, y’know, winded up. That goes on for eight bars before Jude starts to sing.  
  
 _Always aiming paper airplanes at me when you’re around  
  
You build me up like building blocks just so you can bring me down  
  
You can crush my candy cane but you’ll never catch me cry  
  
If you dangle that diploma and I dead, you don’t be surprised_  
  
Van and Jude come in before the pre-chorus with their respective guitar parts. Liliver is still waiting.   
  
_I know my ABC’s yet you keep teaching me  
  
I say fuck your degree, alphabet boy  
  
You think you’re smarter with me, with all your bad poetry  
  
Fuck all your ABC’s, alphabet boy_  
  
Liliver bags twice on the bass drum, then her starts on her fill, really making the chorus kick. Jude looks so angry while she sings, and it occurs to me that this song might be slightly aimed toward a certain someone whose name begins with _L_ and ends in _ocke_.  
  
 _I’m not a little kid now, watch me get big now  
  
Spell my name on the fridge now, with all your alphabet toys  
  
You won the spelling bee now, but are you smarter than me now  
  
You’re the prince of the playground, little alphabet boy  
  
_There’s an eight bar instrumental, where Jude twirls in a slow circle, concentrating on her chord progression, fingers not used to the rhythm yet. She catches my eye and I offer her smile. Her lips quirk at the sides. Not quite a smile, but progress.  
  
 _Apples aren’t always appropriate apologies  
  
Butterscotch and bubblegum drops are bittersweet to me  
  
You call me a child while you keep counting all your coins  
  
But you’re not my daddy, and I’m not your dolly  
  
And your dictionary’s destroyed  
  
_The chords pause for a second while she uses her strumming hand to flip the music over to the new sheet, but they resume on time, like they never left. She’s well-practiced at guitar, and it’s easy to tell that she’s poured her heart and soul into music.  
  
 _I know my ABC’s, but you keep teaching me  
  
I say fuck your degree, alphabet boy  
  
You think you’re smarter than me, with all your bad poetry  
  
Fuck all your ABC’s, alphabet boy_  
  
Jude sings the next chorus with so much ferocity, it’s like she’s singing them directly to Locke herself. Maybe she is, in her mind. Saying a big old _fuck you_ to him and his stories. I sure would like to do that myself, thinking about it.   
  
_I’m not a little kid now, watch me get big now  
  
Spell my name on the fridge now, with all your alphabet toys  
  
You won the spelling bee now, but are you smarter than me now?  
  
You’re the prince of the playground, little alphabet boy  
  
_The instruments all get a little lower in pitch for the bridge. Liliver has this little fill before Jude’s singing again, this time with an affect over her voice. Her eyes have closed.  
  
 _Alphabet boy, oh alphabet boy  
  
Alphabet boy, alphabet boy  
  
My alphabet boy ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh  
  
_Another bar of instrumental plays before Jude’s singing the final chorus, softer than the others. When she’s finished that, the instruments play a slowly fading sixteen bar outro. I mess up once, my finger sliding to the fourth fret instead of the third, but I’m not the first one to make mistakes. I know for a fact that Van was one note off the entire last chorus, and Liliver did a fill when she was meant to do a roll in the first verse.  
  
But none of that matters. This is the first time we’ve played it together, which is pretty fucking rad.  
  
“Well,” Liliver says, breaking the silence that had settled over us after the song finished. “I think that definitely goes on the next album.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave song suggestions in the comments below if you want a song to be featured :)
> 
> leave kudos and comments becase I crave the validation I get from strangers online


	23. Perth, Australia (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soft band family bonding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like this chapter much, but I ADORE that song, y'know. the playlist for this fic can be found on my spotify, a.slingo

We were all sprawled out into Van’s hotel room, which was, decidedly, the cleanest out of the three. Right now, Van is trying to teach me card tricks. I’m better than average, or so he tells me. The room stinks of Doritos and nail polish, which are not scents that mingle well together. Liliver is painting her nails while Jude tries out different chord progressions on her acoustic guitar.   
  
I throw a card. It spins out, but falls halfway through its journey. I curse. Van says, “No, man, it’s all in the wrist. You’re throwing with your fingers.”  
  
The sound of gentle guitar stops and then Jude is picking the card up off of the floor. She looks at the card face then shuffles it into position between her fingers. With a snap of her wrist, she sends it sailing through the air and into my chest.   
  
I raise one eyebrow at her. “You’re good at that.”  
  
“It would have been embarrassing if it failed.” She says.  
  
I stoop down to pick up the card from where it fell at my feet. I test it between my fingers.   
  
“No.” Jude says, striding toward me. She comes up behind me, her arm wrapping around mine, and her fingers curling over mine. She moves her wrist in a sharp flicking movement moving my hand with hers. She repeats the movement a few times, then steps away. “Now you try.”  
  
I try to replicate her movement, but I’m struck by the sudden absence of her body. When I release the card, it flies further than it did before, but I still seem to be doing something wrong, because it flops onto the floor half a second later.   
  
Jude snorts but slides a different card out of the pack of cards. “Watch me.”   
  
She takes her stance – legs slightly parted, spine curved to the side, wrist on an angle. She flicks the card and it goes spinning into the wall.  
  
I follow her movements. My card follows the same path. She claps me on the shoulder. “Nice.”  
  
“Now watch me never be able to do that again.”  
  
“You’ll get it eventually.” She says, rubbing her hand over my shoulder and down my arm. “It took me ages for Van to teach me that trick.”  
  
 _Van_. I had completely forgot he and Liliver were in the room with us, but now that I was aware, I could smell the chemical smell of nail polish and hear the sound of cards shuffling together behind me.  
  
“Yeah.” Van says, stepping up beside me and flicking a card out from his fingers. It spun out and looped round like a boomerang. “She got that frustrated that she refused to let me teach her anymore.”  
  
“I didn’t _refuse_.” Jude says, crossing her arms defensively. “I just didn’t _ask_ you to teach me again.”  
  
Van rolls his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”  
  
She sticks her tongue out at him and flops down on the bed, narrowly avoiding smashing her head into her guitar. Liliver pats her head with an elbow, both hands busy applying a second coat of nail polish to her somehow already chipped nails.   
  
Jude reaches one hand up to pluck at the strings of the acoustic absently. She grabs it by the neck and hauls it over her head until it rests on her stomach. She continues to make up little melodies while laying down.   
  
Van demonstrates how to make the card curve in the air. I try to copy it. My card sails into the wall, but doesn’t loop like Van’s. “Man. I suck at this.”  
  
“Nah, you’re just not as good as me.” Van says, “you have to hold it like this.”  
  
He shows me how the card is slightly bent between his index and middle finger. I adjust the card and try again. This time, the card comes flying back to me.  
  
I whoop and then pick up all the cards from the floor, shuffling them into a neat pile. I don’t want to continue, so I slide the cards back into their box and sit next to Jude on the bed. She plucks out the melody to **VICES** without looking.   
  
“Cardan.” Liliver says, waggling her fingers at me, “Let me paint your nails.”  
  
I think this over for a moment. “Sure.”  
  
She takes my hand and puts it on the edge of Jude’s guitar so it’s on a flat surface. She clutches the bottle in one hand and unscrews it in the other. Just as she starts applying the first coat to my thumbnail, Jude mumbles, “If you got nail polish on my guitar, I’ll kill you both.”  
  
Liliver ignores her, “Lets play never have I ever.”  
  
“What are we?” I ask, “Thirteen year olds?”  
  
“What’s wrong with never have I ever? Its fun.”  
  
“It’s invasive.”  
  
“Stop being a bore.” She swats at my arm with the hand not holding the nail polish. “We won’t ask you anything super personal. Just tell us if you’re, like, _uncomfortable_ telling us something, ‘kay?”  
  
I sigh dramatically, “Fine.”  
  
She grins, her eyes flickering over to Van, who’s still practicing card tricks, “You better be paying attention, mister.”  
  
I can hear the smile in his voice without having to look at him. “Whatever.”  
  
“I’ll go first.” She starts, but then frowns. “Wait, we don’t have any alcohol.”  
  
“I’m on it.” Van says. He walks out of the room for a minute. In the meantime, Liliver continues to paint my nails black. He returns a moment later, holding a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cluster of shotglasses in the other. He sets them down in the table closest to us all and pours out four shots. He hands them to us all individually.   
  
“Ok.” Liliver says, setting the nail polish bottle on Jude’s guitar carefully so she can hold the shot glass. “Never have I ever... kissed someone of the same gender.”  
  
“Oh fuck you.” Jude groans from where she’s still lying down. She carefully manoeuvres herself into a sitting position while keeping the guitar horizontal as to not spill the nail polish bottle. She keeps the guitar on her lap, but throws her shot back at the same time as Liliver.   
  
I wait until her eyes are on me to pour my own shot down my throat. The alcohol burns my throat as it goes down.  
  
“What?” Liliver screeches when I set down shot glass down.  
  
I shrug, “I’m pansexual. And I was a very experimental college student.”  
  
Jude just blinks, then shakes her head slowly. Van refills all our shots, aside from his own. He says, “Ok, never have I ever... gotten _or_ given head in a public bathroom.”  
  
“Van!” Jude says, watching him with wide eyes as he swallows down his shot. Her eyes grow even wider when Liliver also throws her back. She puts both hands in the air in mock surrender, “You know what, I’m not even going to ask.”   
  
“That’s probably wise.” Liliver says, holding her shot glass out for Van to refill. “Anyway, it’s Cardan’s turn.”  
  
I think for a minute, gently swilling the vodka around the shot glass. “Ok, never have I ever...”  
  
___  
  
“I wanna see your fucking hands, Perth!” Jude waves one hand in the air. There’s a ripple as the standing section raises there hand all at once. “Yeah, that’s right. Now, who wants to hear **Hayloft**?”  
  
People whoop. Jude lets her hand drop.  
  
“Yeah, this isn’t our song. It’s by Mother Mother, but it’s currently one of my favourite songs.”  
  
Van starts with the melody, his fingers running over the strings expertly. Me and Liliver start with the chorus, my voice and hers at opposite pitches.   
  
**_My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
You better run  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga_** _  
  
_Jude comes in with the chords and the verse vocals. Technically, the original song’s main vocals is a man, but Jude thought that switching it around would make it a more original.  
  
 _It started with the hayloft a-creakin’  
  
Well it just started in the hay ( **loft** )  
  
With his long-johns on, Pop went a-creepin’  
  
Out to the barn, up to the hay _  
  
Van slides from the first fret to the seventh. It creates the same effect as when Lili and I sang “ _loft_ ” a couple lines earlier.   
  
_Young lovers and they are not sleeping  
  
Young lovers in the hay ( **loft** )  
  
With his gun turned on, Pop went a-creepin’  
  
Out to the barn, up to the hay ( **loft** )  
  
_Jude’s entire body is curved toward the microphone. Her eyes are closed as she croons into the microphone, with her back hunched out as to accommodate her fingers changing from chord to chord on the guitar neck.  
 **  
 _My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
You better run  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
My daddy’s got a gun  
  
Ga-ga-ga-ga-ga_** _  
  
_Jude opens her eyes and sends me a wink. I flush and look down, the alcohol from last night is still circulating around my system slightly (I got absolutely _wasted_ ) so I blush easier than usual. The alcohol paired with my pale skin makes my blush way more noticeable.   
  
Liliver and I repeat the chorus again. Jude swings away from the microphone, eyes tracking her own finger movements. She stands back to back with Van while they both play, sweat plastering hair to foreheads and coloured lights playing havoc on their skin.   
  
_It started with the hayloft a-creakin’  
  
Well it just started in the hay  
  
With his long-johns on, Pop went a creepin’  
  
Out to the barns, up to the hay ( **loft** )  
  
Young lovers with their legs tied up in knots  
  
Young lovers with their legs tied up in knots  
  
With his long, tall gun, Pop went a creepin’  
  
To blow their hayloft bedheads straight off  
  
_Me and Liliver do the chorus twice in a row, before the outro.   
  
When the song is finished, Jude swings her guitar onto her back and all but runs over to me. She kisses my cheek and murmurs into my ear. “You look pretty, all flushed like that.”  
  
That makes me blush even harder. I turn my head so she can’t see my pink cheeks. “Shut up.”   
  
She laughs and kisses the tip of my nose. “Stop being stupid. Just accept the fact that you’re cute.”  
  
“I am _not_ cute. I am very, _very_ sexy, all the time.”  
  
“You can be cute _and_ sexy. And you are very good at being both.” She tells me, pressing kisses to both of my cheeks.”  
  
“Why thank you.” I say, mildly surprised. “You are _also_ cute and sexy.”  
  
Liliver obnoxiously clears her throat into her microphone. “Can y’all get a room? We need to continue the show, here.”  
  
Jude laughs and extracts herself from me. She picks up her microphone, midway through a laugh. “Alright, alright. This next song is called **strawberry lipstick**.”  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave recs in the comments! I'll get around to them if I can


	24. Ontario, Canada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song for this chapter is Hella Good by No Doubt. I don't think I have to tell your where to find the playlist, do I?

Jude’s on a call to _Taryn_ and I’m _bored_.  
  
Ok, ok, technically, she’s doing this for me. Some kind of paperwork bullshit to get me an official part of the band. But she insisted I didn’t have to be there, and now I’m bored as all hell.  
  
I roll my shoulders, which are stiff from the uncomfortable position I’ve forced them into. I’m sat in Lili’s room because Jude kicked me out of ours, which is _rude_.   
  
“I’m bored.”  
  
“You’ve said.” Liliver looks up from her phone.  
  
“Well, I _am_.”   
  
I go back to aimlessly scrolling through my tik tok.   
  
“If you’re so bored, I have an idea.”  
  
I look up at her, and raise an eyebrow. She has a look in her eye which I’m not particularly fond of. Like she’s planning something particularly mischievous.  
  
I narrow my eyes at her. “What?”  
  
“Let me give you a makeover.”  
  
I raise the other eyebrow at her. “I don’t need a makeover.”  
  
“No, you don’t.” She agrees, “But it’ll be fun. Besides, you said you were bored. I’m giving you something to do.”  
  
I mill this over for a second. Liliver giving me a makeover definitely has potential to tease Jude. Eventually, I say, “Fine.”  
  
Liliver climbs over me on the bed to reach her suitcase in the corner. “Close your eyes.” She demands as she starts rifling through the clothes.  
  
I do as I’m told and let my eyes fall closed. I blindly listen to her rustling about for a few moments more before she’s shoving fabric into my arms, and then she’s pushing me toward the bathroom. I open my eyes so I can see where I’m going.  
  
Before I close the door, I catch sight of her excited eyes. She shoots me a grin and claps her hands together. Ok, now I’m really worried. I close and lock the door, then take my phone from my pocket and send Jude a blurry Snapchat photo of the clothes in my arms, with the caption _Lili gave me her clothes to wear and I’m scared_.  
  
Her response comes almost instantly. The photo is taken from an odd angle. Jude’s facing something off screen, with a completely neutral expression. The caption reads, _Stop distracting me_.  
  
I drop Liliver’s clothes on the counter and pull my shirt off. I send Jude another snap, this one a mirror shot with my phone covering my face and my chest, and type, _you think I’m distracting?_  
  
The photo I get back is almost identical to the last, but she seems to be having a harder time controlling her expression. She’s written, _Shut up._  
  
I snort and kick of my shoes and pants before trying to make sense of what Liliver’s given me. It takes me a minute, but I eventually decipher the three scraps of fabric: a skirt, a long sleeved mesh top, and a a short sleeved crop top that looks _entirely_ too short.  
  
I laugh, long and loud. Liliver joins in from the other room. I hold the mesh top up so I can take a picture of it. I send the photo to Jude without any caption.   
  
The photo she sends back is blurry, and seemingly taken from under a table. _I’m going to kill Lili._  
  
I set my phone on the side and squirm into the top. It’s really, really, _really_ tight, clinging to me like a second skin. I pick my phone back up and intentionally take a mirror pic too blurry to be distinguished with the caption, _I don’t know, it’s kind of comfy_.  
  
It is actually comfy, once I get used to the sleek slide of it over my skin. Next comes the crop top. It’s not as tight as the mesh top, but was right. It is too short. It hangs to halfway down my ribcage. There’s a candy heart embroidered over my real heart, with the words _Bite Me_ written on it.   
  
I’m admiring myself in the mirror when Jude’s response comes in. She’s flat faced and staring at her laptop again, but theres a distinctive blush creeping up from the collar of her shirt. _Stop it, you dick. This is important_.  
  
I don’t make the photo blurry this time when I take it; a simple headshot in the mirror. I’ll have to take a full-length one in the mirror in Lili’s room. I write: _More important than me_.  
  
The skirt next. Listen, I’m not actually adverse to being a “feminine” man. Masculinity is overrated. It’s not like I’m the epitome of a “Manly Man”, but I’ve never actually worn a skirt. Kind of weird that this is the first time it’s happening. I shrug and step into it. It’s pleated and chequered, and barely grazes the tops of my thighs.   
  
I chew the inside of my cheek and wrestle my shoes back on, because the floor is fucking freezing and I’m pretty sure my toes have contracted hypothermia, if that’s even possible.  
  
“You ready?” I yell to Liliver.  
  
A pause.“Come out!” She yells back in response.   
  
I unlock the door and step out.  
  
“There he is!” She sings. She’s got her phone out, filming me for what I’m sure is the band’s official Snapchat. “Those are my clothes.”  
  
I cross to the mirror and check out my own ass, which looks amazing. “I’m hot.” I admit to her, “Well, hotter than usual.”  
  
She laughs a proper witch’s cackle and pinches two fingers on the screen to zoom in. I flip her off and continue admiring myself. “We’ve still got accessories and the like.”  
  
I watch as she zooms out and then sets the phone on a table, standing up and aimed at us. “ _And the like_?”  
  
She flaps a hand at me, “Make up.”  
  
I scoff, “Good luck with that.”  
  
“Not a lot. Just enough for J- The Queen to pay attention.”  
  
“She pays attention to me anyway, I’m incredibly attractive.”  
  
She snorts but doesn’t respond, going to rummage around in her suitcase a little more. I take this time to snap a quick picture of Liliver’s phone, sending it to Jude with the caption, _Check the official Snapchat_.  
  
It goes through. I turn off my phone as Liliver comes up with a handful of shiny pokey things. “Well, you don’t need rings.”  
  
She gestures to my ring-laden hand. I curl it at my side. Liliver comes up behind me and fastens one of those multi layered chokers around my neck. She then hands me a collection of earrings for me to shove into my ears, which I do with only a little blind stabbing.   
  
She gestures to the small dining table, where she appears to have plonked down her ratty make up bag. I sigh and sit on the chair. She immediately starts attacking with eyeliner and mascara. She even draws little eyeliner hearts under the wings.   
  
“Mess your hair up.” She instructs once she’s satisfied with my makeup. I run a hand through my hair. “All done.”  
  
I get up and check myself out in the mirror. My eyeliner is perfectly mirror on both eyes, which is a little freaky. Who doesn’t mess up their eyeliner? I tilt my head this way and that to admire it.   
  
“Well that was fun.” I say, pleased, “What now?”  
  
___  
  
Jude hasn’t mentioned the whole skirt thing yet. But I’m not dumb enough to believe that she’s forgiven _or_ forgotten.   
  
So when she finishes getting changed, I almost physically combust. She looks _amazing_ in an effortless way; with baggy pants that do wonders for her ass, synched at the waist with a thick leather belt, the holes ringed with steel and the excess leather hanging down her thigh; steel-toed combat boots that makes her look like she’d be able to curb stomp me without any effort (I would thank her if she did); a black sports bra under a mesh hoodie. She’s bleached the framing strands of her face blonde and tied the rest up in space buns.   
  
She catches sight of my face and winks before grabbing her guitar case and sweeping out of the hotel room. I follow her like a lost puppy down the stairs and into the street, which is practically empty. Lili and Van are already there, helping the techs set up.   
  
We walk down the street side by side. She doesn’t look at me the entire time, but every step has our hands brushing. Just before we enter the building, she links her pinky with mine. Butterflies fly in my stomach, which is fucking _dumb,_ because I’ve gone down on her before, why should linking pinkies make me feel like a teenager again?  
  
She kicks open the door with the sole of her boot and drags me inside. The stadium’s performers entrance is dark and hidden away from the main entrance (so we don’t get mobbed) but there are dim lights lining the wall. We climb the stairs and make our way up to the stage door to wait.  
  
___  
  
We’re only one song away from the end of the show when Jude takes her revenge on me.  
  
“Okay,” She says, twirling the microphone chord around her finger, “I know there’s only **Blackout** to go before the shows finished, but I’m going to give you guys a brand new sneak peak of a song on our new album, yeah?”  
  
The crowd cheers.  
  
See, this was news to me. Jude had told me nothing about this. I look at her and lift an eyebrow, to which she just flashes me a smirk and signals to someone off stage, who comes out with new music for my microphone stand.  
  
Jude continues to talk while I familiarise myself with the bass line. When I think I’ve got it down, I signal to Jude with an a-ok hand sign.  
  
“Ok, Ontario, are you ready for **Hella Good**?”  
  
Liliver kicks in with her drums in a simple 1-2 beat for four bars, before I come in the bass line. We both play for another four bars before Jude starts singing.  
  
 _The waves keep on crashing on my for some reason_  
  
I expect her to keep going, but she does these little breathy noises into the microphone over the riff that Van plays. To summarise the experience, I would say: Oh. Shit.  
  
 _But your love keeps on coming like a thunder bolt_  
  
She does the breath again. My brain is buzzing. The noises are very similar to the sounds of her panting between kisses. I don’t even have the mental capacity to appreciate the fun little tune Van plays.   
  
_Well come here a little closer  
  
_ I have to mentally tell myself to focus on the bass. She doesn’t do the breaths this time, but there is still a break between lines for Van to play his riff.   
  
_Cause I wanna see you baby, real close up  
  
_ The music crescendos as we come into the chorus. Jude doesn’t need a guitar for this one, so she slings it over her head and lies it gently on the stage floor, still singing into the microphone. _  
  
You got me feeling hella good, so lets just keep on dancing  
  
You hold me like you should so I’m gonna keep on dancing  
  
_All the instruments quieten for the second verse. I’m just about recovering from the shock when she starts walking over to me. I force myself to keep my head down and appear unaffected, silently cursing my pale-ass skin.  
  
 _A performance deserving a standing ovation_  
  
She does the little breath-things again. I don’t know how to categorise them – they’re not moans, per se, but they aren’t innocent either – I just know that they will be my downfall.  
  
 _And who would’ve though it’s be the two of us_  
  
Van plays the riff again as she walks closer, doing what she can to engage the audience, winking and waving and blowing kisses to the crowd by her feet. I’m pretty sure I see one girl swoon into the arms of another.   
  
_So don’t wake me if I’m dreaming_  
  
 _Cause I’m in the mood, come on and give it up  
  
_ Her fingers ghost down my arm and I have to suppress a shudder. The tips of her finger nails press lightly into my bicep, leaving faint half-moons imprinted there. The music gets louder again as we do the second chorus.  
  
 _You got me feeling hella good, so lets just keep on dancing  
  
You hold me like you should so I’m gonna keep on dancing  
  
(Keep on dancing)  
  
You got me feeling hella good so lets just keep on dancing  
  
You hold me like you should so I’m gonna keep on dancing  
  
(Keep on dancing)  
  
_She walks behind me and hooks her chin on my shoulder, holding the microphone over my chest to the roars of the crowd.  
  
I don’t need to play for the bridge so I let my right hand go lax against the strings and the left move into the position I’ll need for third iteration of the chorus.  
  
 _Ooh, yeah yeah!  
  
Ooh, yeah yeah! _  
  
Van is truly impressive with his solo. I decide to focus on that instead of Jude’s warm body pressed against mine  
  
As Jude moves into the third chorus, once Van’s solo is over, she steps out from behind, yanking at my chains with one hand and forcing me to hunch down over her.  
  
 _You got me feeling hella good, so lets just keep on dancing  
  
You hold me like you should so I’m gonna keep on dancing  
  
_She starts to walk back to her spot on the stage. I’m still playing my bass. She doesn’t let my chains go, essentially forcing me to follow her like a dog. The way the metal bites into the back of my neck is, quite frankly, pretty hot.   
  
_You got me feeling hella good, so lets just keep on dancing  
  
You hold me like you should so I’m gonna keep on dancing  
  
(Keep on dancing)  
  
_The song dissolves into the outro. Jude hooks her microphone into the stand while the rest of us play until the song fades into nothing. Just before she releases my chains, she smears a spontaneous kiss to the underside of my jaw.  
  
Then she lets me go and turns to her microphone as if nothing happened. “Our last song for tonight is called **Blackout"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need validation, please leave comments. Sorry this chapter took so long, writers blocks is a bitch


	25. Toronto, Canada (Jude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> band bonding + fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song for this chapter is Say Yes by Elliott Smith. All song can be found on my spotify (a.slingo)

I’ve still not entirely forgiven Cardan for his little _game._ I was on a very important call to Taryn, Sophie and Fand regarding Cardan becoming an official member of the band. _Then_ he started sending me Snapchats. They started out tame enough, just him complaining about being bored. But then they got risqué, and I had to go to the band’s official Snapchat to see him in _that skirt_.   
  
I think I got my revenge pretty well, though.   
  
Tomorrow is the last day of tour, and I’m nervous for no reason. It’s not like things have gone wrong any other times, but I can’t help but think that something will go wrong now, just at the last stretch.   
  
Cardan and Van have gone out shopping for goodness knows what. Probably ice cream and smoothies. Honestly, it’s like Cardan’s never had smoothies before. Whenever he goes near them he gets all wide-eyed and buys every flavour possible. It’s the same with a lot of things, like ice cream or coffee or cookies.  
  
 _Honestly, it’s like he’s never had them before_. But I recall the cruel look that Cardan’s older brother looked down at him with, and I think that might be true.   
  
My phone pings, distracting me from the murderous turn my thoughts were about to go down. Cardan’s trying to FaceTime me.   
  
“Hey, Lili!” I call.  
  
Her voice from the bathroom yells back, “What do you want?”  
  
“Cardan’s calling!”  
  
The door unlocks and she comes out with a face mask on and her white hair tied behind her in a complicated looking ponytail. “Sweet. Video?”  
  
I nod and accept the call. On my phone, the picture is only small, but I can see the artificial lighting behind Cardan’s face. He’s kind of hunched over, with his arms folded on the bar of the shopping cart while he pushes it. I can just about see the top of Van’s head, because he’s _very_ short and Cardan is _very_ tall.  
  
“Is there any reason you’re calling me?” I ask, rolling onto my back and holding the phone up above my head. Liliver comes to lie next to me, squishing her body right next to mine as to be seen through the camera.   
  
“Yeah, what-” Cardan squints at his phone, “Hey, is that my fucking face mask?”  
  
Liliver cackles loudly and I put a hand to me ear, “Jesus Christ, dude, that was right next to my ear.”  
  
“Sorry,” she says, patting my arm and not sounding very sorry at all, “But yes, dear Cardan, it _is_ your face mask.”  
  
“The only solution to this is murder,” He says pleasantly as he grabs something from a passing shelf and tosses it into the cart.   
  
“I can handle that for you, if you’d like.” I volunteer.  
  
“Awww, babe, you’d do that for me?” He asks in a fake whiny voice.  
  
“You know it.”  
  
He blows a kiss at me through the phone and Liliver makes a fake gagging sound.   
  
“Anyway,” he says, angling the phone down slightly, so we can see more of Cardan’s chest and Van’s full head, “I was going to ask you what kind of alcohol you want me to get.”  
  
“We aren’t drinking tonight.” I point out. We never drink the night before a show. It makes my voice go all whack and scratchy.  
  
“No,” he says like it should be obvious, “But we are _after_ the show. It’s the last one, and we just have a flight home the next day. We deserve a fucking party, man.”  
  
Next to him, Van snorts and wrestles the phone out of his hands. He flips the camera around to show a shaky shot of the cart that Cardan’s pushing. In it is a truly massive bottle of vodka; about a dozen pints of ice cream; family sized bags of chips; peach schnapps; and a few bottles of something that looks suspiciously like smoothie.  
  
“What kind of party has ice cream?” Van asks.  
  
The phone shakes as he takes it back and flips it around so Liliver and I can see his face again, “Anything can be a party, and _this_ just happens to be an ice cream, vodka and movies parties.”  
  
I roll my eyes at him but say, “There’s nothing wrong with ice cream-vodka-movie parties.”  
  
Cardan gestures off-camera to Van, “Told you.”  
  
Van makes a disgruntled, but holds up a box of soft cookies and asks, “For the ice cream?”  
  
“Nice,” I say, and he chucks it in the cart.  
  
A timer goes off an Liliver’s phone and she rolls off the bed to remove her – technically Cardan’s – face mask. She tosses it in the bin and then massages the rest of the leftover... juice? Syrup? I don’t know what to call it. Anyway, she wipes the mess off her hands on my jeans. I make a face at her. She ignores me and asks, “How do I look?”  
  
“You’re glowing.” I tell her drily.   
  
“Why, thank you, Jude.”  
  
I roll my eyes again but turn my attention back to Cardan and Van on my phone screen. They’ve somehow moved onto the bread aisle and are debating about whether or not bread should be included as a party food.  
  
“Why,” I start, bringing their attention back to me, “the fuck would we need bread?”  
  
Cardan shrugs and pokes at one of the loaves, “I don’t know what people usually have at ice cream-vodka-movie parties.”  
  
“Not bread.” Van says helpfully, “Cake?”  
  
“Ooh, cake.” Liliver says, lying down next me again, cuddling into my side. “Get red velvet.”  
  
Van makes a face, which Cardan zooms in on, “Are you crazy? Chocolate is _clearly_ what we need.”  
  
“You’re both wrong.” I inform them, “We need a lemon drizzle.”  
  
“No!” Liliver all but yells. She wedges her elbow into my ribs and I groan in pain. “That’s for the dumbest idea I’ve heard this century.”  
  
“What?” I massage my ribs where she elbowed me, “Lemon drizzle is good.”  
  
“For a tea party, maybe.” Lili mutters. Then, louder, she asks, “Cardan, thoughts?”  
  
Something flashes in his eyes, like loss and guilt and pain, “I don’t know. The parties I went to in high school weren’t cake parties. They were more get-drunk-and-hook-up-with-a-girl-in-the-bathroom parties. Why don’t we just get all three?”  
  
Something stabs at my heart. The bitterness in his tone. The resentment in his words. The memory of old friends in his eyes. “That sounds like a great idea.”  
  
___  
  
We’re only half an hour away from our ice cream-vodka-movie party, roughly. Cardan’s in the shower. My hair is drying in the warm hotel room, plastered to my neck and the back of my pyjama top. I’m rooting through the drawers of the dresser for a hair dryer, but I’m not really paying attention to the motions my hands are going through.  
  
There’s a mixture of emotion in the pit of my belly, and I can’t tell if its elation or melancholy. On one hand, I’ll get to return to normal life. I’ll get to live with Cardan and we can write music and act like we’re a normal couple. On the other hand, I’ve got no clue how to handle living like a normal person anymore.  
  
My hand closes around the handle of the hair dryer, and I tug it out. The lead gets stuck on something at the back of the drawer, so I yank at it and the plug and a notebook dislodges.   
  
Too overcome by curiosity and an unwillingness to dry my hair to ignore the notebook, I toss the hair dryer onto the bed and flip to the first page of the notebook. I recognise Cardan’s handwriting immediately. It doesn’t _look_ like a diary, but it _was_ hidden, and even so...  
  
I turn another page.  
  
The next page is a mess of scribbled out words and messy doodles. It takes me a moment to realise it’s a song. The correct lyrics seem to have been highlighted, along with boxes for chords above the words. The song title is in block letters along the top – **Say Yes _._**  
  
I should really stop reading this. I, more than anyone, know that music can be a way of expressing emotions – a songbook is really just a musical diary, if you think about it.  
  
But I’m a nosy person, by nature, so I read.  
  
 _I’m in love with the world  
  
Through the eyes of a girl  
  
Who’s still around the morning after  
  
We met up a month ago  
  
And I grew up, I didn’t know  
  
I’d be around the morning after  
  
_A month ago? When did he write this? There are little arrows coming off a few of the lines, posing questions or just berating word choice. I think it’s beautifully phrase, if not a little hard to look into.  
  
 _It’s always been wait and see  
  
A happy day and then you pay  
  
And feel like shit the morning after  
  
But now I feel changed around  
  
And instead of falling down  
  
I’m standing up the morning after  
  
_At this point, I have to turn the page because of the amount of scribbles leaves half the page unusable. At the top of the new page, there’s a doodled love heart with J + C written neatly in the centre.   
  
_Situations get fucked up  
  
And turned around sooner or later  
  
And I could be another fool  
  
Or an exception to the rule  
  
You tell me the morning after  
  
_My heart is pounding in my ribcage. This is really personal. I should stop reading. But I don’t, because I’m incredibly stupid, and I persevere.   
  
_Crooked spin can’t come to rest  
  
I’m damaged, bad at best  
  
She’ll decide what she wants  
  
I’ll probably be the last to know  
  
No one says until it shows, see how it is  
  
They want you or they don’t  
  
Say yes  
  
_The last few lines are the only ones that haven’t been tampered with. They’re clean and printed nicely, but still highlighted in bright green, surrounded with leafy doodles and twin crowns.  
  
 _I’m in love with the world  
  
Through the eyes of a girl  
  
Who’s still around the morning after_  
  
“Do you like it?” Asks a voice from the doorway. I jump half a mile out of my skin and whirl on my heel, snapping the notebook closed.  
  
Cardan, with a towel wrapped around his waist and his chest still shining with water, is leaning against the doorway.  
  
“Shit, I’m sorry-”  
  
“Don’t be,” he pushes off the wall and comes to stand next to me, “I put it there for you to find. I’m not dumb you know.”  
  
I raise an eyebrow, “I’d have to disagree.”  
  
“First of all, rude.” He says, “Second of all, I asked how you liked it.”  
  
“Cardan...” I turn and put both of my hands on his chest, casually brushing off some water droplets, “I loved it.”  
  
He smiles and leans down to kiss me.   
  
“But...” I continue.  
  
He stops before he kisses me, his breath blowing onto my skin. He asks, “But?”  
  
“But you should probably get dressed. It’s nearly party time.”  
  
He groans but quickly ducks his head to chastely kiss me before turning to the drawers of clothes and starting to pull out the fluffy pyjamas that Liliver bought him just for this occasion. Thinking the conversation to be over, I pick turn to pick the hair dryer from where it fell on the bed.  
  
I plug it in and dry my hair out, lingering on the back just to see if I can dry my shirt as well. Next to me, Cardan starts getting changed. I keep my eyes firmly averted, my face heating as though we were teenagers getting changed next to each other for the first time. I could probably attribute the blush on my face to the hair dryer, though.  
  
When I’m done I yank the plug from the wall and wind the cord around the handle. But when I turn around, I let the hair dryer fall to the floor. Because Cardan, in his fluffy pyjamas and with his hair still wet, is on one knee in front of me, holding up a ring.  
  
I’m already crying.  
  
“Jude,” He says, and he sounds like he’s going to cry as well. He clears his throat, “We haven’t been together that long, but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, and I want to be yours forever.”  
  
I open my mouth but no words come out, so I just nod rapidly and choke out a raspy, “Fuck yeah.”  
  
He grins and stands up, kissing my deeply and sliding the ring onto my finger. The kiss tastes salty, both of our tears mixing in.  
  
I can’t stop smiling as he pulls back. I hold up my left hand to admire the ring in the dim hotel lighting. It’s simple – he knows I’d hate anything too elaborate – silver, with an intricate pattern of twisting leaves. The diamond in the middle is set into the hilt of a tiny dagger that pokes up my finger.   
  
I stand on my tip-toes to kiss him again, flinging my arms around his neck and holding him close.  
  
A lyric from his song comes back to me as his hands slide to my waist.  
  
 _Say yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact! I cried while writing the ending.


End file.
